


Good Grief

by beaubashley



Series: The Empathetic Alas Lavellan [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alerion knows how to make an entrance ok?, Also all Solas POV, F/M, It’s gonna keep hurting until it doesn’t hurt no more, Light Smut, Solavellan Hell, Some not positive internalizations, The one in which the Quiz removes themselves from the narrative, but like...it happens, but not really, but then REALLY, death during childbirth, is it still a fix it fic if you break it until the very end?, like original Solavellan child, nothing graphic, other tags apply I’m sure, that’s a big one, things are gonna turn around I swear, this is all post trespasser btw, unless...?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-16
Updated: 2019-10-04
Packaged: 2020-09-02 10:10:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 26,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20274217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beaubashley/pseuds/beaubashley
Summary: “As you say then, Wolf.  Maker knows you’ve never led me astray.”He tried not to take the slight to heart.He truly did.





	1. Every Minute

**Author's Note:**

> A million thanks to my amazing beta, WardsAreFuntioning!
> 
> Enjoy!

It was in that moment he knew. As his lips parted from hers, chaotic magic rippling off her decaying hand in waves, ushering him to collect what was rightfully his. As he stood, eyes apologetic, frowning mournfully, he knew full well he was leaving her for a second time.

He was fixing this. He was helping.

A final kindness that masked a double edged sword, posed and at the ready to cut them both deeply in equal measure.

He could feel her eyes on him, even as he made his way through the eluvian, sealing it off as he breached the other side, he could still feel the pointedness of her gaze burning into his back.

The sound of her wails as her arm collapsed into itself around the immensity of his own rift magic echoed in a round in his head.

He had hurt her again.

_And it won’t be the last time_. The voice in his head like a knife.

He had always suspected he was weak. Not of mind, or spirit. He knew his own abilities physically.

But of heart and there was no longer any room for doubt.

This would be kinder in the long run. The mantra that kept him at bay.

But kinder to whom? Had he ever stopped to even consider the possibility that he was only inflicting further cruelty?

If the desperate tinge in the Inquisitor’s voice was any indication, it certainly wasn’t for her sake. Her words had been kind and measured. Deeply sad and filled with longing. She made it clear that she wanted to fix what was becoming of them. That she wanted to understand, despite everything he had subjected her to since their last parting. Even though he would have to continue to do so in the very near future.

And he was so undeniably weak.

The ache in the depths of his soul was only further proof...so who was really being sacrificed here?

Who was being guarded from the cruelties of the truth?

She knew now, she _knew_, and still she’d returned his final affections. He should’ve trusted her.

The wolf who hunts alone, he had only sealed his fate.

He shifted seamlessly back into his disaffected mask. Fen’Harel, truly and completely now— relaying orders and tasks, getting up to speed on what he had missed while dealing with...

With...

_Weak_.

He had never lost his edge, filling out the role he had so distanced himself from during his time with the Inquisition. Even after a millennia of sleep, his mind was still sharp as a cutting edge, still calculating and scheming twenty moves ahead.

This had been his life before the Veil. Well. Before that even. After so many eons, identity became a blur. Irrelevant. It was consistency, and consistency through action that revealed the truth. He wondered what his consistent denial about the depths of his affection for her added up to.

Cowardice seemed the most convincing.

Solas finally had a moment's rest, having travelled through several more strongholds and temples, relegating expectations, holding meetings with his ever growing inner circle. Communicating and delegating in an endless stream of regurge. Laying traps for loyalty, misinformation and reaffirmation of suspicions within his own ranks.

Weeding out the dedicated, the honest.

The weak.

He longed for the comfort he could only find in the Fade. He felt emotionally raw, doubtful and so distinctly alone after the events of this very long day.

He couldn’t resist, so he sought her out.

He wasn’t foolish enough to approach. He wasn’t completely naive to the detrimental effects his presence caused her.

But he had to know, had to see it for himself.

Solas assumed his bestial form, the reality of it a small shade of the tall tales woven by her Dalish ancestors. The transition was natural, slipping into a second skin.

He heard her before he saw her.

And what he heard made his heart thunder, his stomach twist and his paws dig themselves firmly into the ethereal snow.

She was screaming, crying with all the grace of a wounded animal, his ears went flat against his head at the sound.

She would whimper his name between heavy breaths, and as he came to the tree line he could finally see the consequences of his actions.

He could see her, twisted upon herself. Collapsed and sobbing. Bright, brighter than bright, fluorescent greens streaking from the wrapped stump of where her corrupted left arm had been.

Another swell of intense magic flung her body back as she shook with pain, an ear splitting scream hitting the cold air.

He suppressed the whine that tugged at his throat.

How had he subjected her to this? How had he done this?

For the greater good? To fix his wrongs? The din’anshiral?

It was almost done.

And yet, somehow, she was the one paying the price.

He couldn’t heal this. He couldn’t help this.

His own weakness ever present in his mind.

He was a cause. He was a thorn. Useless as he watched his heart suffer. Cowardly as his eyes followed every twitch and spasm of her pain.

And that’s when he saw it.

Small, hairlike tendrils tethering themselves to the base of where the rest of her left arm had been.

He thought he was doing a kindness by removing the anchor from her, granting himself the last vestiges of magic that remained from his foci. The removal of his insidious mark should’ve extended the Inquisitor’s life by several years.

Solas should’ve known his own mercy would have its shortcomings.

He hadn’t considered that her mana would become so ingrained in that of the anchor. Had never even entertained the possibility that this wouldn’t be a cut and dry issue.

As always, the matter at hand had become more complicated.

Or, rather, the matter no longer at hand.

What could he do? If he did do anything at all.

Perhaps her magic would correct itself given more time. Perhaps it would overcome the vestiges of his own trying to weasel its way back into place.

He would watch then — observe for any progressions and proceed as necessary.

In the back of his mind he knew this wasn’t as completely selfless as he wanted it to be.

————

It had been weeks, and here they were again. Solas, cloaked as a watchful wolf, Lavellan bowed in agony in the middle of the clearing.

After the fourth night the Inquisitor’s screams of pain had morphed into agonized grunts as she stifled each episode behind her remaining fist, or bit straight into her lips and cheeks.

Even now, in the comfort of her own dream she remained strong. So strong, where it would be easy to break down and give in, she endured. A blaring beacon of fortitude and will.

With each pulse the Fade almost seemed to ripple around her, those tendrils growing thicker and more vibrant.

Solas theorized that somehow his remaining mana, instead of being utilized and spent, was being regenerated and sustained, fighting for a stronghold back to where it had thrived for nearly three years.

He had become such a part of her, left such a mark on her, both emotionally and physically, that this was the lasting result. Not a withdrawal of his presence, but an assault on her most primal self.

The Dread Wolf had experienced shame in all of its many facets over the course of his numerous pitfalls, but this...

This was a new low. It was vile acid coursing through his veins, knowing definitively that this was his doing. This poor woman forever doomed because of his own failings, again and again.

She was never meant to be here. Never meant for this course.

How could he have done this?

How could he have been the unwitting orchestrator behind her pain?

He had to do something. He had to set this right.

Solas had waited, he had tried to let it resolve itself, but now he knew and still had the means to change this one thing.

At the very least, he could do this. If not for her, then most definitely for himself.

————

For the first time in the month he had invaded her dreams Solas stayed in his true form. He cleared the tree line, never faltering in his stride as he approached her cowering frame.

He held that air of confidence, of clear deliberate action, regardless of the doubt that clouded his mind as she finally looked up at him. Her hair was in haphazard strands across her face, skin sweat slicked and sickly, her eyes blazing and radiant as they held his.

She scoffed, her elegant neck that had mesmerized him in softer moments exposing itself to him now as she bent back into herself, “Finally decided to condescend upon the dying Dalish?”

Solas winced, he had never heard her like this. “I could only remain idle for so long.”

“Long enough,” she groaned as another wave took her breath away.

“Quite.” He dropped to his knees to level himself with her. “Am I safe to assume you will accept my assistance?”

“And what of your price, Fen’Harel?” Her snark was mostly lost in the trilling squeal that broke at the end.

He needed to distract her, he needed to act. “Enduring my presence will suffice, I am sure.”

“You have no idea.” The Inquisitor straightened, placing more weight back on her haunches to present the wrapped remains for his examination.

He could accept the jabs and accusations. He would take them and hold them close as a reminder.

Nothing was the same between them.

And it was all his fault.

“Here,” she said, jostling him out of his thoughts as she presented her maimed limb for his inspection.

His hands reached up, healing magic automatically swelling and at the ready. He hesitated only a moment, his eyes flickering between her resolutely pointed gaze in the other direction and her ailment, before he finally laid his hands on her.

A sharp sting of resistant energy flooded his fingers, an unexpected surprise considering the magic’s origin. It treated him as an intruder, a deviant. Despicable and cruel.

A fascinating reaction in and of itself, though it did pose a challenge he was not anticipating.

“You look pleased.” Lavellan’s tone was anything but.

His stomach dropped. Did he really?

This was supposed to be simple. A minor correction, a brief interval of their continued correspondence, but she always managed to complicate things didn’t she? Especially when it came to him, to them.

It was reassuring to have at least this one thing remain constant. Regardless of the strained circumstances.

“Apologies,” he amended. Solas lowered his hands, studying the fluorescent strands again, measuring the frequency of them, his eyes going sharp in their scrutiny.

There was a rhythm, a pattern to their wavelengths, something distinctly different from his own in his palms. How incredibly devious, how adaptable that excess magic had become.

How foolish of him to let it get this far.

He focused again, matching his own magic to this foreign shade of it.

The instant sigh of relief that left the Inquisitor's lips was indication enough that he had gotten it right.

The sound alone was a reward he had not anticipated.

————

They continued to meet like this, nearly every night if her dreams allowed him.

He had stopped the pretense of wandering into her headspace, dropping the act of modesty by manifesting besides her instead, ready to begin his ministrations. She held herself stiffly, expression aloof as she gave him access to her.

The near instantaneous sigh continued to betray the Inquisitor's front, that tempestuous admittance of relief.

Solas trained his expression, remaining neutral as he resisted the small triumphant surge that filled his chest.

“How bad has the pain been?” he asked instead, searching for a distraction.

“Better,” she responded, jaw tight. “Manageable.”

He nodded, not believing her in the slightest. That was as far as their conversations typically went. A quick exchange of unpleasantries followed by a weighted silence.

————

The magic that remained in her arm had dulled and subdued under his care, but for the life of him Solas could not dispel it.

The longer their visits progressed, the more agreeable Lavellan had become to their new arrangement. She was always adaptable in that way. She accepted the reality of the situation and acted in the best interest of them both. She was not a cold person, nor an ignorant bleeding heart, but she was reasonable. Better to acknowledge reality than pretend to grin and bear it.

Although, in a way, that was precisely what she was doing now.

“You’re frustrated,” she observed casually. “That’s a new one.”

He gave her a brief look before he focused again on those thin, nearly imperceptible, tangles of mana.

He missed the smile she gave, a proud turn at the corners of her lips. “It’s not working, is it?”

Her tone was teasing and that only irked him more.

“Are you still in pain?” He deflected instead.

“No, it’s almost like an itch now. Even here.”

“Then it is working.” He said, believing the conversation at an end.

She shrugged, willing enough to not press the issue, “As you say then, Wolf. Maker knows you’ve never led me astray.”

He tried not to take the slight to heart.

He truly did.

————

Today they were silent, no brief greeting or acknowledgment of the other. Straight to business and Solas was glad for the ditched effort at civil indifference.

This should have been resolved by now, he should have been able to handle this and be rid of this distraction.

“You may want to reign that in, Wolf,” she said, voice soft like a whisper. “Unless it is your intention to fill the entire Fade with your displeasure.”

He trained his expression as he let out a quiet breath, heeding her advice without thanks.

“Perhaps you should consult with some of your friends, they may have an alternative you have not considered.” Lavellan reasoned, diplomatic as always.

“You may be surprised, Inquisitor, but I have already exhausted that option.”

She looked at him, surprise written over her usually cool features. “And what have they said?”

Solas stayed quietly focused on his task, not daring to meet her scrutinizing eyes.

She did not need him to speak, fully capable of putting the pieces together herself. His silence was telling enough. “I see. A fool's errand then.”

A beat. Solas could feel her body tense as the reality of her situation sunk in.

“We should end this.” Her voice was light, contrasting so starkly with her word’s intent.

“Yes.”

She pulled away from him, “Why haven’t you killed me? It would be so much easier.”

“Of course, death would be the easiest solution.” Solas stood, abiding the sudden urge to be as far from her as he could. “After all, for as long as I’ve known you I have only caused you pain. May as well keep with the trend.”

“No,” she protested, clearly embarrassed by her blasé attitude towards the prospect of her own end, and by his hand no less. “No, I’m sorry. You...you’ve given me hope and wonder that I haven’t felt since I was a child. You’ve given me love and kindness.” She paused, stretching out the sore remains of her left arm, circling the stump in its joint. “Lately though, well... I cannot deny your words.”

Solas shook his head dismissively, rubbing a hand against his brow, “Then you still do not understand. Not completely. Every action against you and your people, every slight, every degradation are a direct result of my actions — every shade of your world and your life an echo of what I have done.”

She laughed. Actually laughed, as if the severity of his confession was ridiculous. “You cannot rightly take responsibility for every shem insult sent my way.”

Of course she would take it lightly, “Then you are not paying attention, _da’lan_.”

Lavellan rolled her eyes, a reaction both endearing and obscenely infuriating, “To the contrary, _harellan_. I have tracked every move, every dalliance of your forces, tirelessly examined every angle of every iteration between us and your actions since. Scrutiny and mistrust to the highest degree I am able. You could not be more wrong about how open my eyes are to you now, Fen’Harel.”

Once, he had taken that name as a badge of honor, turning the other cheek to the Evanuris’ failed attempts at slander and propaganda. Coming from her though — breaching those lips he had come to so desire and her voice which he coveted like a song — it finally became the slap in the face for which it was always intended.

“I was raised to fear you,” she continued, her verbal assault gaining momentum. “And I know how you detest those fables. May you never hear my footsteps and yet my pace fell in line with yours. I thought we walked the same path, but you continued to deceive me and you made those stories real, Wolf. Maybe not to the world, or your forces, or to your clandestine future, but to me and there is no longer any doubt. You betrayed my trust, and my love, and I have willingly let you trick me again and again.”

“_Vhen’an_, I—“ he tried, embarrassed as she laid him bare.

“You proved them all right. You gave the morals validity and I hate you for it.”

What could he say?

He hated himself for it too, perhaps even more than the Dalish.

The irony of it all was a little too palatable for his liking.

Dread Wolf take him — everyone else be damned.


	2. Of Every Hour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A hearty thanks to my beta, WardsAreFunctioning , who I appreciate and adore!

There had been a discernible change between them since her chastisement, and he had never been more aware of it then now, as she tried not to look at him. 

“Don’t laugh.” Her cheeks held a flush as she pulled at some stray strings on her shirt’s hem. 

For a singular moment, as he took in her vulnerable embarrassment, it was like they were both back at Skyhold. Quiet moments in his study, gazes hurriedly shifting away when they were caught staring. 

He missed her. 

“I would never.” 

“I know, it’s different,” she defended again. Needlessly, of course, but Solas gave her a patient smile. 

What would he care of hair or the lengths thereof? He had no horse in this race himself. An accessory, a trifle. Though the constant exposure of her neck did have a certain appeal—

He quickly put that thought to an end. 

But there was something in the way she was so uncertain, that even subconsciously she still cared about his opinion. His opinion of her more specifically. 

It was...flattering. 

He squashed it down again. These frequent tangents were an issue he would have to address more privately later. 

“A stupid mistake really.” Her right hand dragged through the cropped strands. “It’s just…”

She shook her head, giving up as she flopped back into the incorporeal snow around them. A puff of air escaped her lips. 

“Just?” he prompted. This was one of the more civil conversations they had held and he longed for the familiarity. 

“My braid,” she relented. “I couldn’t get it right. I’ve been trying, but everything takes so much longer now and I…”

She let out an aggravated breath. “I’ve been so angry, over everything. Over you, my arm, the entire situation. Since the Conclave, to be perfectly honest, and I’ve never had the chance to actually acknowledged it. Then it all finally broke— this stupid, uneven braid. I lost it. It had already felt like everything was slipping through my fingers and then half of them were taken… But this was the _one thing_, before Corypheus, before you. It was mine and then it wasn’t.”

Solas didn’t know what to say. A thick knot of guilt pulling at the pit of his stomach. 

He had saved her life by taking her arm and the anchor with it, yes, and he was continuing in his effort to do just that, but the consequences continued to be far outside of his predictions. 

That he affected even this tiny intimate corner of her life, that she couldn’t even have this small routine of comfort…

It was unjust. 

Solas looked away from her face, the wistful expression her anger had morphed into made his jaw clench. 

“So I hacked it off. Well, an attempt was made anyways,” Lavellan shrugged. “I may have been too enthusiastic with the sheers.”

And then she laughed, Solas’ shoulders hitching imperceptibly at the sound. 

“Oh Solas, you should’ve seen Josie’s face when she found me. Her jaw nearly unhinged from how low it dropped.” Lavellan shifted her posture, presumably mimicking the ambassador’s shock. “_Oh! Inquisitor! My apologies, but you seem to have—_“ She laughed again, her impersonation breaking for a moment. “_Misplaced your hair._”

Solas ignored how his heart leaped into his throat at her using his actual name and tried to hide his smile behind his hand. He could almost perfectly picture the frantic look on Josephine’s face, her quill trembling in one hand as the poor woman tried to piece together a way to positively spin the situation. 

The Inquisitor took in a deep breath, finally calming the hysterical laughter that had consumed her, a thumb wiping away a few mirthful tears. “To which I responded,_ ‘I do believe you’re right, would you be so kind as to help me find it?’_.” 

Solas looked back at her fondly, giving a muted laugh himself. The few moments where he saw her undone like this were precious and he savoured the way her jovial mood shifted the ether around them. 

“I felt like such a fool,” she surprised him by lifting her eyes to meet his. “But I suppose a little foolishness is amenable every now and again. It felt...I don’t know, like a relief, maybe. A bite of humble pie every time I see my reflection.”

“A sign to slow down perhaps,” he mused. “To let things go.”

She sat up, eyes never leaving his. “Possibly.” 

“Has it proven effective?” He already knew her answer. 

“Not in the slightest.”

————

Her dream world smelled of Spring. Her hair had grown shaggy. 

Their healing sessions had waned as Solas was faced with the uncanny nature of this mutated magic. A brief bout of maintenance on his part if she admitted to any resurgence of discomfort followed by a lengthy respite in each other’s presence. 

Neither of them would acknowledge this unspoken shift. As if admitting that they both longed for the other’s company would dissolve the spell from under their illusory feet. 

Here they were not enemies, or spurned almost lovers. Or ancient Gods or false prophets. 

They were all of those things, and yet none of them and they had both come to the same conclusion independently. 

It didn’t matter. At least not here. 

“Forgive my forwardness, but you must speak with the Commander about his screening process.” Solas curled a few strands of young grass between his fingers. 

Lavellan placed her chin on her fist, her face scrunching up as she mockingly considered his words. “Yes, I really should, shouldn’t I? Especially after the four spies we let in last recruitment.”

“Four? Inquisitor, one of those is not from me.” His eyes slid to hers as he failed to quell the cheekiness in his voice. “At least I am relatively certain I only intended three.”

“It must be hard to keep track of all those numbers, especially in your old age, _hahren_.” 

Solas gave a short laugh at that, blipping over the way his stomach clenched at her choice of endearment. 

A lull filled the space between them. He watched idly as the Inquisitor braided several stemmed weeds together to form a chain, an impressive show of dexterity in the small movements of her singular hand. 

“Would you tell me of them, if I asked?” She kept her gaze to the small task at her fingertips. “About the Evanuris.”

Solas exhaled, knowing full well that this was a long time coming. “It is not a pleasant story.” 

“Even so,” she implored, looking at him with that genuine sincerity that had endeared her to him in the first place. 

“I will endeavor to try.” Then, an idea. A foolish spark of hope. “Or perhaps, it would be better to show you.”

That had grabbed her attention. “Truly?”

He considered it again, before giving a brief smile. “I do believe you have shown a willingness to perceive the truth, or at least my own experience of it, and hearing one’s own voice for so long can be taxing on the ear.”

“Little did you know that I have often entertained the idea of you lecturing me into the grave since our last corporeal exchange,” she joked. 

The jest fell flat as he forced a smile. No response was adequate enough to express how much he detested that idea. 

He held out a hand, allowing her to make the first move for voluntary contact. “Let us try then.”

A full, breathtaking smile filled her face, careful fingers drifting lightly over his palm. 

Oh, how he missed her soft touches. A skim of those fingertips at his elbow in the rotunda, at his shoulders in the Plains. Stolen moments with quiet concession. His lips curled to match hers. 

The gentle world around them began to fade, twisting and morphing into starker impressions. Swirling spires and endless corridors, a cacophony of echoed sound. Beams of light bending and caressing the cavernous architecture. 

Despite all the grandeur, they never looked away from each other. 

“I must warn you,_ lethal'lan_,” Solas’ voice was reverent as she held his hand tighter. “These first moments are not easy.”

Solas guided her briefly, hand in hand, their steps measured and even, until they came across a large collective. 

Rows of Elvhen draped in cascading finery highlighted in golds and silvers formed a tiered semicircle around a dias. A singular woman was at its center, dressed in the very pinnacle of opulence as she lead them all in an arching song. 

Slowly, a form began to materialize, all wisping blues and whites with golden eyes. The leader approached, guiding the chorus into its end. 

Solas could feel Lavellan’s eyes on him but he could not look at her, afraid of what he would find there. 

The two at the center began to speak, rounded tones filling the sparking air. 

Solas leaned closer, his mouth angled towards the Inquisitor’s ear. “_I call upon you from the Void, knowing one, to aid in what must be and all that will come. I ask for your wisdom and your guidance to be forever bound to my task. Your compliance rewarded with flesh and protection. Will you agree to these conditions?_”

“_I accept and shall obey, All-Mother_,” the spirit replied, their voice reverberating and shifting about the room. Solas could not look away, regardless of the insistent tug on his hand. This moment, this irreversible decision pulled at him so viscerally. He had often thought back to the origin of all of his choices and here it was. Plainly in view for his own eyes, his mind screaming at him to stop. 

If only it was that simple. 

“It’s you,” the Inquisitor broke him from his thoughts, like a breath of fresh air. “You were a spirit.”

“Yes,” was all he could manage in response. 

Solas watched with a detached fascination as Mythal approached his old form, hands gently coming to caress a shifting face before bending down and placing their foreheads together. 

The room filled with a blinding spectrum of light, radiant and almost imperceptible in its overwhelming beauty. But above it all a scream, cutting the glory with a jagged blade as it all came crashing down around them. 

Frantic Elvhen followed, voices distraught and uncertain. Solas no longer had the inclination to bridge the language gap for his companion. He glanced over to Lavellan, her expression confused before she returned his glance. 

Solas shook his head to abate the question on the tip of her tongue. “It did not take.” 

“It must have, you’re here after all.” He loved it when her eyes glimmered like that; A hint of determination while putting the pieces together. 

“Yes, in time. A decision had to be made to complete the transference. One that I had not initially been prepared for.”

Understanding dawned on her features, and he gave her a patient smile. They both knew what needed to be done— after all they had already done it once together for Cole. 

“No,” she breathed, knowing full well his opinion on what the right decision should have been. 

He took a step forward, face neutral as he watched his spirit form congregate into a physical one. Young and firm and itching for a fight. He had almost forgotten how deviously Mythal could smile. Or the iridescent hue of her vallaslin as it bled from her hands and into his skin. 

“How could you do it? You must have known the consequences, known yourself at least.”

“Mythal and I had been in each other’s confidence for millennia, we knew what the Pantheon was planning. She could not do it alone and I could help, but not as I was.” All his wisdom and still he had been such a fool. 

“You gave your entirety to her cause, and for what?” she sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose. “No, never mind. You give your entirety to everything else, except for yourself. Except for me.” 

Her hand flew to her mouth as if to stop the words. 

“Inquisitor—“ 

She shook her head at his protest. “That was unfair of me...I, uhm, I am sorry. Please let’s,” she took in a breath, straightening her posture. “Let’s move on.”

And they did. 

Blips and flashes of memories. A sky filled with wavering greens against double moons. Spirits and energies filling every dark crevice with light, exposing all of the deepest wonders she could only dream of. 

His world, his entire _world_ and she was beholden to it. A witness to his long list of triumphs until he finally plateaued. Championing Mythal, charming his way deeper and deeper into the Evanuris’ refined circles by way of his skills as an _i've'an'virelan_—regaling them with tales of his travels and discoveries in the name of his master. Bearing witness to the injustices that surrounded the people he had elected into. 

Because behind those wonders, those mythical highs, it all eventually brought about the terrible lows. The beginning of his fight. Of his path. 

He showed her now, his younger self filled with a deep aching rage as he stared at his reflection in the glistening tiles beneath his feet. As it all built within him, into a fever pitch. 

His heart pleaded for this vision, at the rebirth of himself as calloused fingers dug relentlessly into the skin at his brow. So deep and frantic that he drew blood, and yet he did not relent. Ignorant in his desperation, a fool’s hope to rid him of the markings that marred his face. 

Until he felt it, a spark of energy and he chased it, mimicked it, felt it flow through his fingertips and he pulled, pulled, _pulled_, until finally relief. 

He could breathe. A smile, a true glorified grin. These chains could be broken, and he would be the one to do it. 

Of course, that relief only lasted until he was discovered. He could not hide his bare face long enough to devise a plan. 

It was Dirthamen who found him, pulled him from a dream while he was looking for answers to his new situation and then promptly knocked him into oblivion. 

He woke chained and battered. His skin felt raw. 

His head was pulled back by the scruff of his hair, still matted with sweat and blood. “What have you done, _rhangirem_?”

“What should always be done. I will enact justice for my people against your tainted hands—.”

The fist that collided with his jaw was so quick he barely had time to register the pain, his head thrown to the side from the impact. His teeth had split his cheek if the sharp taste of iron was any indication. 

Solas spit at the supposed God’s feet. “You may make me bleed, but never in a way that matters.”

“It will matter once I have your tongue for your impudence,” he threatened, but Solas felt nothing but this stiff, unwavering pride. 

“Then you will never know of my methods and your ilk will remain in ignorance.” And he smiled, he knew he was right. 

“You find yourself clever do you? You sniveling waste—“

“That is enough,” Mythal interjected, voice ringing against the damp stone walls. Dirthamen looked surprised, she was an unexpected guest, though her next words drained any relief Solas may have felt from her presence. “Perhaps a different solution. If he has managed such a feat by himself, he may prove invaluable. Put him through the rite, prove his worth. If he succeeds than we know this is to be.”

“You want for it to join us?” Dirthamen scoffed. “It cannot come to pass. The precedent would plant the seed of doubt, it would lead to the unraveling of our divinity.”

“That seed has already begun to sprout, my son, but _this_...this would build a hope. A faith that any one of them could aspire to greatness.” Mythal primly brushed some hair away from her shoulder, carefully folding her hands together again. “And what could be a stronger bond than that of devout hope? However false it may be.”

The Keeper of Secrets was not appeased, his body still tense as he considered his Mother’s words. “What your are speaking of is treasonous.”

“Then it is a good thing there is no one here to claim testimony.”

Solas’ stomach dropped, for once finding no comfort in Mythal’s confidence. 

He was released from his holdings, collapsing forcefully to the ground, his body too weak to support his weight. 

Dirthamen went to leave, nodding once to his Mother as he passed.

“Do be a dear and send one of mine for him, Dirthamen.”

“As you wish, All-Mother,” was the God’s displeased snarl. His retreating footsteps were the only sound besides Solas’ labored breathing. 

“This is not what we had planned,” Solas pitched his voice low, finally composing himself enough to speak now that they were alone. 

“Indeed, it is infinitely better,” Mythal laughed, completely misreading his trepidation. “You will have your own resources, your own means.”

“You forget that I have not agreed to this. I do not have to play into your hands.” 

She placed a steadying hand on his shoulder, peering into his eyes. “Then that will be your end and we will find ourselves back to the start. Do not be foolish, my friend. There is but one path before us.”

She was right, of course she was. This would free them both up significantly, they’d be able to cover more ground, achieve their shared goal quicker than anticipated. The biggest drawback was that it put Solas directly in the line of fire and he was slowly finding that he didn’t mind as much as he probably should. 

A timid boy entered the prison chambers, Mythal’s vallaslin a striking green across his brow, disturbing them both from the precarious silence. 

Regardless, Mythal had read him, she knew his thoughts as intimately as she knew her own. “Come, there is much to be done. You must prepare.”

———

“So you slept?” Lavellan asked in disbelief, watching as the rite was carried out around his younger prone form. 

“It would appear so,” he drawled, eyes wandering about the room. There was so much that he had missed being on the receiving end of it all at the time. He nudged her gently. “Try again, _da’lan_.”

She thought, coy lips hiding behind the knuckle that came to rest at the corner of her mouth. “You dreamt.”

“Well done.”

She rolled her eyes. “There were only so many options, but dreamt of what? What was it they expected of you here?” 

“To become their equal and to endure as they had for the benefit of great magical gain. I was becoming a God.” 

“By sleeping? What an arduous task.” 

“Yes, I do imagine we are all divine in our own right if that were the only requirement. However, things are often vastly different than they seem. You are missing the more important question, Inquisitor, the why.” 

“You’re somniari, Solas, it is simple to infer the why.”

“Ah, I did not realize Elvhen rituals were so transparent to you. Forgive my impertinence.”

She laughed before facing him more fully, pulling her face into a pout and trying to feign the utmost of interest. “Please, Solas.”

He shook his head at her playful tone, pointing to the smooth orb held in his sleeping hands. “It was to forge my foci. I entered a deep meditative state, wandering the greyest reaches of the Fade until I brushed the Void in the pursuit of power. A ritual that took decades at minimum.”

“How long did it take you?” 

“A matter of months,” Solas smirked, owning fully to his namesake. 

“I cannot recall you ever actually gloating.” She nudged him in the ribs. “This is a new look on you.”

He had enough awareness to flush minutely. “Yes, well, it was a rather vainglorious moment. My first direct slight against the Pantheon. They were not pleased, claimed that I was unctuous and not to be trusted. I did have help far beyond their capacity, however. An advantage they could never hope to gain.”

“The Forgotten Ones?” her tone was timid, uncertain if she was following correctly. 

Maker help him, he loved her. 

“Precisely so, and suffice to say that any way They could usurp some power from the Evanuris was an opportunity taken with little thought to the cost.”

As much as he relished their newfound honesty, in this instance she did not need to suffer the finer details. There were revelations that could still be used directly against him if she grew desperate enough, and he largely suspected she would. He could spare her this much and she appeared content with his explanation. 

A surge of mana caught the room’s attention, the ancients attending to him flitting about in urgency. Thick streaking greens pierced the orb, engraving deep curving lines into its previously unblemished surface. 

“Such a small thing...” Lavellan mused quietly, almost to herself. 

He could follow her train of thought and it filled him with nothing but guilt. 

Maybe this was not the best idea after all. 

———

There was a lavish ceremony held to welcome him into the Pantheon. A giving of title and estate. Establishing his place among the higher echelon that dictated their lives. His hair was cut and preserved somewhere he no longer knew where in a show of his higher standing, a symbolic gesture of unity. 

A grandstanding of good faith. A redistribution of wealth. They knew his power now and were already trying to mitigate it. The name of Fen’Harel, a warning to any who tried to align themselves with him. A fear from the get go. 

He would not do a disservice to himself even as they tried to. 

Solas looked upon the sea of marked faces presented to him, given to him like little trifles, little indifferences. His stomach twisted into sickened knots. 

No more. 

“My people,” the young Fen’Harel declared, raising his voice to the crowd. “My kin, I welcome you into my home. I am grateful for the generosity shown by my Brothers and Sisters, and I, too, would like to bestow a gift upon my new family.”

They didn’t know him, they didn’t have a choice. They cheered because they had to, because their enthusiasm was expected or they would all suffer the consequences. 

_No more_. Never again. 

“Your freedom,” he continued, building off of their demanded acclamation. “But you must come and claim it.”

His words stirred something new, their ovation slowly turning into dispersed murmurs of uncertainty. By now the rumors of his upstart had spread, as much as the Evanuris had tried to twist it against him. It sat in the backs of their minds like kindling for the fire. The champion who had removed his own vallaslin, who had changed his own course. 

Here he was offering the same to them. They came expecting a new branding of vallaslin, could they really dare to hope there would never be one for their new master? Could they hope to stand beside a God as equals?

They had no real reason to fear the Wolf, sheep as they were, but they knew the cruelties of their masters first hand. And here Fen’Harel stood, giving them hope, giving them a chance. 

Statistically, at least one of them was bound to take it, and that one was all that he needed. 

He could feel the piercing gaze of the Pantheon, and he glanced once to where Mythal sat. He knew that look. He knew that smile. 

It was time. “Do you accept my gift to you?” 

There was no misinterpreting the shrill rounds of approval, a pleading call to end their suffering. The Dread Wolf had only been banking on one person with courage enough to stand with him. For all of them to accept his offer, they must have been more desperate than either he or Mythal had anticipated. 

If only the Solas then had taken his focus off of Mythal, he may have seen the vengeful sneer just besides her. His present self, however, now observed Elgar’nan with perfect clarity. If only he had seen it sooner. 

Fen’Harel summoned that magic to him, his mana tenfold now with the assistance of his foci, before blanketing it against the crowd. 

This was a mass exodus of their beliefs. An upheaval of life as they knew it. His purpose and it was finally here. 

“_Ma mala vasreëm!_”

The rebellion had begun. 

———

Showing Lavellan the birth of his first born was an entirely different experience in and of itself. 

The absolute shock that filled her face actually plucked a laugh from him. As if the thought was so obscure, so unimaginable. 

He had lived a full life from a mortal perspective, numerous times over. Children had been a natural part of it for him. 

Even as much as it pained him now to recall it, that dull ache that never fades. He could barely remember the sounds of their voices and it stung bitterly of betrayal whenever he let himself dwell too long. 

“You had a daughter.” 

“Two,” he nodded. “Both brilliant spitfires. Lanaya, my first, and Mithra, who came the following year.” He waved a hand, a small gesture that shifted the scene around them. An echoing hall filled with laughter as two young girls ran together, braided hair and dimpled chins, weaving in and out of rooms just out of sight. 

“And their mother?” 

He could detect the smallest flicker of jealousy in her tone and it surprised him. “Ilaan, clever and dogmatic. She always told me she cherished my wit, for it managed to fall short of her own, and adamantly denied any attraction born from being the partner of a rebel God. It was quite the rage for some time, mind you.” 

He tried not to laugh at Lavellan’s expense, but her expression was priceless. _No_, he chided himself, it would be kinder to end her small agony. “A devout parent and dear friend. ” 

The Inquisitor shot him a disbelieving glare, and he actually _did_ laugh this time. 

“Truly,” Solas insisted. “Love was a slow thing. We had a foreseen eternity, there was no rush to define and measure every inclination. There was time to build that depth of feeling, and in some cases it never came, as was our situation. You have shown me otherwise, Inquisitor.”

Lavellan returned the reassuring smile he had given her. They were quiet for a long moment as he lead them through one of his old homes, following the sounds of chatter and play. The girls’ path led them outside, swaying trees and clouds covering floating cities off in the distance. 

“What became of them?” she finally asked, not daring to look at him.

Her question was a punch to the stomach, but Solas remained outwardly passive. He had relived the moment so many times back in the heat of his uprising that it all blurred together into a singular despair, an anguish with so many faces that one could not be distinguished from another. 

“There were stirrings. Mythal and I suspected darker forces at play, suspected the Evanuris plotting something against us both for my actions. I entrusted them into her care while I sought council in the Void, but They urged me back before I could find our answer. Upon my return, Mythal had been slain, and my family along with her.”

There was no stopping the scene that flooded the space around them, his emotions festering and overpowering even now. One of Mythal’s more isolated temples, ransacked and purged, his younger self picking through the carnage, standing alone and seething. 

Lavellan’s muted sob pulled him away, her hand trembling around her mouth as she shut her eyes against the massacre. He was quick to change the Fade, creating a more neutral environment, something to dull their equally inundated senses. He gently pulled her to him, a soft embrace as she broke in his arms. 

“That was cruel of me to show you, I am sorry,” he said, lips buried in her hair. 

“No,” she cried. “Your honesty was not the problem. The injustice is the cruelest part, the reality of what you have endured, I can’t, Solas, I _can’t_—“ 

“I am sorry,” he assuaged again, mindlessly tucking her hair behind her ears. 

“Enough, please, enough. Stop keeping it all on your own shoulders.” She pushed away from him, keeping her hand in the center of his chest, an anchor in a completely different sense. “You hoard it there, as if you are the only one capable of bearing it. Enough, Solas.”

“I do not think I am capable of stopping.” The levity was lost somewhere in the middle. 

“Then it is time to learn.” 

A blossom of hope, thorny and blooming like a rose in his lungs. 

The least he could do was try.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! 
> 
> All comments or critiques greatly appreciated.


	3. I Miss You, I Miss You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is unbeta’d, so I apologize for any errors! 
> 
> Also, all Elvhen in this story is referenced from _Project Elvhen_ here on AO3.

———

His life was a haunting blur after Mythal’s untimely departure. Solas was fully responsible for himself now and for their cause. It was a situation that he was capable of handling, of course— he had already been doing so for over a century. But there was no longer that hint of a safety net, nor the comfort of a confidant. 

He had lost the entirety of his family and again he was met with that deep seated rage that had gotten him into this situation in the first place— only this time he could not afford to lose his head. His people still depended on him for protection and he gained more by the day. They flocked to his sanctuaries in increasing frequency as he shepherded them into freedom. He began training them in secret, forging his own discrete army for those who wished to stand beside him. They all knew it was only a matter of time before the Evanuris decided they had enough of his petty little protests against their livelihood and took him for the true threat he was. 

Some days he didn’t know what was more infuriating, their ignorance or their hubris. Either way, it gave him an advantage and he would not squander it. Not with so many lives depending on him. 

He had already lost enough. 

His informant’s reports were delving into some truly unsavory territory. A vein of tainted lyrium had been sighted and taped in one of Andruil’s temples. The implications beyond that did not bode well for anyone. There could be more, and he could not chance the Evanuris monopolizing it to further solidify this new foreign power against all of Elvhenan.

He sought guidance in the only place left for him, but the Void stirred with a restlessness that bore no comfort. They undulated and grew more chaotic with each visit and it unsettled him deeply. Solas grew weary of their increasingly volatile advice, and it was a slap of reality when he could no longer stomach the visits at all. 

Just as the Evanuris were plotting, the Forgotten Ones were enacting an agenda of their own. 

Solas knew undeniably that they were on the cusp of war and it would not be some petty dispute such as who claimed what of Mythal’s leftover prosperity like the last one had been. 

A true War. It would rip the world apart. 

He was in the middle of it. He knew what had to be done. The Dread Wolf would not cower with his tail between his legs. Even if he did give into that baser instinct to flee, there would be no safe haven from the destruction either side would bring. Solas would act, and it would do him well to act soon. He needed a plan. Hopefully, his reputation for his cunning and deceit would do him credit. 

As if he could be lucky enough. 

———

Fen’Harel, for the first time in his regrettable Godhood, called a meeting. 

He had spent the last several years gently currying the Pantheon's favor, manipulating and hinting that their attendance would prove most valuable. He was already sacrificing the location of one of his hidden fortresses, as well as the gatekey to a more private string of his eluvians, the least they could do was show up. He knew their weakness, that they held their front of propriety above all else. Although, he supposed the chance to further vilify him in person was a large enough motivator itself. 

They gathered around him, some draped over carefully carved thrones just for the occasion, while others stood neatly around the All-Father, their remaining patriarch. Faces impassive, disinterested, conveying too perfectly that they were here for his benefit and not theirs. 

Perfect, let him be snubbed. Let them bask in their superiority. 

“I do hope you are happy, Fen’Harel,” Sylaise drawled. “You have us all here at your beck and call.”

“Yes, it must be part of his plan to have us waiting on him for once,” June laughed bitterly, clearly very pleased with himself. As always. 

The Dread Wolf managed to keep his face neutral with surprising ease. Otherwise, he feared his eyes would be stuck in a perpetual roll. It would not be the most dignified look, best to avoid it in light of his current company. 

“Let us not delay then,” he said, lacing his hands neatly behind his back. “I have been observing the most alarming news from the Void and have gathered you all now because the matter has escalated into something...disconcerting.”

The most convincing lies always held the truth at their core. Luckily for him, he had that honesty in abundance now. 

They were still unified in their apathy. Too insistently blank, this must have been a strategy they had planned in advance. 

This was going to become tiresome all too quickly. 

“Do you not wish to know what I discovered there? What devious prize the Forgotten Ones are hiding out of sight?” he probed. 

Dirthamen, curious as ever, could not resist the bait. “As if you would be so charitable as to share that with us, Dread Wolf.” 

“Then you are mistaken. What They are planning is of great concern to us all.”

“Do end our suspense then, Brother,” Falon’Din this time, so obviously piping up as a show of consortium with his twin soul. 

Good. His younger self still held all the cards. 

“A weapon. A God killer.” Their feigned apathy finally broke and the intensity of the room was palpable. Fen’Harel relished their fear. He coated himself with it, having the upper hand had never felt so righteous. “They mean to come for our collective throne.”

“Surely you are putting too much faith in the capabilities of those old relics,” Falon’Din said, brushing off the threat so easily. 

“Then I would insist that you are greatly underestimating Them. They have had ages to plot against us, it is not outside of the realm of possibility that they have been successful.”

“By your own words then, it would not be impossible for us to have our own measures against them in turn,” June’s tone betrayed the confidence of his words. 

“_Do_ such methods exist?” Fen’Harel bit out, barely restraining his exasperation. 

“That is hardly the point,” Andruil dissuaded. The idiot, this time he did roll his eyes. 

“It is _precisely_ the point. If your sole aim is to belittle my knowledge, then so be it, but do not let the source blind you to the truth. The Forgotten Ones are planning against you, and it would be prudent for us to act before it is too late.”

“Enlighten us then,” Ghilan’nain said. “What would you have us do, Brother?”

He grounded himself, weaving his composure back into place. He could not afford to lose this chance, he needed to be in control. “We should strike before They can do the same. End it swiftly and set the precedent. It would seem They have forgotten of our true power and are in need of being reminded.”

“And you would have us blindly follow you into Their clutches. We have no reason to believe you are not working in their interests, _harellan_,” Dirthamen stood, the rest following suit. 

Not a reassuring sign. 

“We thank you for the forewarning. However, we have more important matters to attend to.” The Pantheon swiftly departed, Fen’Harel clenching his jaw until it hurt. 

He would not scamper after them begging. If this was their decision, he would find another way. 

Even if he had to kill them all himself, one by one, clawing his way through their individual throats he would manage it. His hands trembled as if the blood was already there. 

An errant cough broke him from his thoughts, his head jerking towards the sound. 

Elgar’nan had remained quiet throughout the entirety and Solas had assumed he had already left with his children. As much as he tried to remain passive, the All-Father’s unwavering presence was disquieting. Ever since Mythal’s death he had been in a self-imposed exile. Presumably mourning, though he had always felt there was more to it than simple grief. 

To have him here in all of his quiet intensity. Something was off. 

Solas would have to be careful. 

“All-Father,” Fen’Harel said, head lowering in a quick bow of expected deference. 

“You must have known they would do nothing, especially at your behest.” Elgar’nan carefully draped a panel of his robe over his forearm as he spoke. 

“Yes, but it is one thing to know the frustration in theory, and something else entirely to witness it.”

The elder shook his head. “They have grown weak since Mythal’s…_ passing_. Power hungry, brittle in their narrow minded pursuits. Arrogant. A mockery of our livelihood.”

Fen’Harel had harbored his suspicions for awhile, but now he knew with almost complete certainty who had been behind the All-Mother’s demise. Elgar’nan’s selective word choice only cemented the idea further. 

He should hold his tongue. It was not safe to accuse their patriarch, even in his own sanctum. 

Then again…

It would be a calculated risk. 

“I must say, I am surprised to see you out of mourning for such a trifling matter, Father.”

The God of Vengeance gave no comment and that was confirmation enough. 

To say the silence that followed was weighted would be a gross understatement. 

Solas dared not breathe, already calling magic to himself in the subtlest way possible. 

The moment passed. 

“How do you intend to lure Them out?” Elgar’nan sounded nothing but contemptuous. 

Solas was balancing on a string, carefully aware that one misstep would be his end. His rational mind knew that he could not, _should not_, trust the All-Father— the man he now knew was responsible for Mythal’s death as well as his family’s. However, if he was to judge the situation on instinct alone, he sensed something almost assuring. A comforting hand against his shoulder. Undeniable familiarity coaxing the words from his mouth. 

The truth then. 

“I have nothing definitive at present.”

Elgar’nan nodded once, lacing his hands behind his back as he approached one of the grand arching windows. His face was pensive. “You will need a bait tempting enough to draw Them from the Void.”

This was something Solas had already thought at length about. Getting the Evanuris into the Beyond would mean nothing if he could not coax the Forgotten Ones to meet them. “They are no longer reasonable…nor will They act simply for my benefit. I had considered offering them passage into the Beyond.”

A sharp laugh. “There are stronger motivators than the thought of freedom, child. You should extend your range.”

“We cannot all be fortunate enough to simply dispose of whatever is in our way.” 

Oh that hot blooded arrogance, it was a miracle that Elgar’nan did not take his head simply on principle. 

The All-Father didn’t even flinch. It was almost as if he turned more fully into the accusation, as if he deserved it. Which he did, undoubtedly, but the easy acceptance of his harsh words did nothing to soothe Solas’ racing pulse. 

“What is it you plan to do once you have us all there?” 

Fen’Harel was already in this deep, there was no going back. “I will erect a barrier.”

“You think a barrier will be enough to keep all of us at bay?”

“If it is constructed well enough. Fortresses and kingdoms may fall, but this will be unlike anything ever seen.” His confidence was a visceral thing. 

“You have such methods already, I take it.”

“They have been in place for some time.” And they had, his network had constructed and installed the devices needed all within the past decade. 

A pause. A loaded silence as the God turned back and gazed out the window. 

And then a breath. “I will aid you in this.”

———

The shocked gasps that filled the glittering halls of June’s sanctum became uproarious as Fen’Harel dragged himself through the masses. Bleeding and broken, exhausted beyond measure. 

“They have him,” he panted out, clutching at his side. “They have taken Father.”

The Evanuris gaped, all of them in different states of disbelief. Their feast had been interrupted, but the sight that Solas had put before them would be impossible for them to deny. 

He may have played the part a little too well. “I was not strong enough to stop them, please.”. 

“Where?” Dirthamen asked, standing to his full height. 

“Into the Beyond, I was too weak to follow.” 

A round of nods and heavy looks as they all assumed a more authoritative posture. 

“We are at war!” Andruil’s voice carried across the cavernous room, hushing any exuberance that had remained. 

It would be the last war of its kind. 

————

And Solas watched. 

He watched as the Pantheon invaded into the Beyond, watched as they drew their strength and magic in full force to try and penetrate the Void.   
Watched as it parted around them, Their cries echoing against his skull as the battle began. 

He saw, for the briefest moment Elgar’nan being struck down, impossibly meeting his dreaming eyes through the layers of the Fade. Two words left his bloodied mouth in a whisper across the ether. 

“End this.”

Fen’Harel woke with a start, hastily transitioning into the waking world before he began to bark orders and gather his forces. 

Amongst the chaos of his plans, he could not shake the look that had been in the All-Father’s eyes. A gratitude he had never seen, the tilt of his lips set in what could only be read as hopeful. A spark of redemption. 

Solas did not have the opportunity to delve into the implications. 

This was his only chance to save them all. He would not waste it. 

————

The Veil was beautiful in a way. A marvelous construct, the first of its kind and the sheer scale alone…

There was an undeniable finesse, an integrity to it that Solas could not help but take pride in. 

Shimmering greens filled his senses, it was the last thing he felt before sleep overtook him, dutiful hands catching him on the way down. 

He had been too weak after all. 

————

They watched, together, as Fen’Harel awoke centuries later, wobbling and fragile and drained beyond measure. 

When he glanced to her, Solas could see that Lavellan was miles away as well. Her eyes unfocused as she took in the scene, her mind whirring just beneath the surface. 

Finally, she spoke. 

“How am I ever going to begin to change your mind? What could I possibly say or do to have you trust in something other than yourself? You have lived through this, you have chosen it again and again.”

A half shrug. “It would have to be something undeniable indeed.”

“If there actually is such a thing that could convince you from this course, I am afraid that it would be far worse than what you are already planning, and that itself cannot possibly be justice for anyone.” Her words were firm, but they were not directed at him, she was convincing herself. 

A silence held the weight of her words. He distracted himself by bringing them into a more impartial space, watching as his anguished form took in the world he had created, alone and devastated. 

“I appreciate your struggles, Solas, truly I _do_,” she dithered. “But haven’t you suffered enough? Hasn’t this all been _enough_?”

Solas laughed bitterly, shaking his head. “If there is one thing the Dalish have accurately preserved is our will to endure. And I will, as I always have.”

“Yes, _you_ very well may, but will the rest of us follow?”

He had no answer to that. 

————

Lavellan took his history in stride, filling the lull in their conversations with the occasional list of follow ups. 

It was never demanding, never accusatory, and he appreciated her curious candor. 

Today, however, there were no such questions in regards to ancient Elvhenan. No, today she veered into exactly what Solas continued to fail at resolving. 

She let out a directed breath, trying to blow away some of the fringe that had fallen into her eyes. “How long before you grow tired of the enigma that is my wilted arm?” 

Solas gave a brief smile. “It was through my carelessness that the anchor was placed on you, it is only right that I do this.”

“An obligation then, a responsibility?” She sat up straighter, attempting to turn more fully towards him. 

He directed her back into her previous position. “In a sense.”

“You’re cruel.”

He lifted a brow in question, eyes not leaving the intricate task at his fingertips. “What would you have me say, then?”

“That you miss me.” Her response was immediate, firm and something else that Solas did not dare identify. His magic pulsed for a singular second, his heart soaring in time. 

“I would not be here otherwise,” he conceded, not meeting her pointed stare. 

“Nor would I.”

His eyes finally lifted, meeting her determined gaze. He knew that look, a wicked awful thing. 

It filled him with hope where none should exist. 

———-

“Another late night, Inquisitor?” he asked as she settled down against him. He could tell instinctually that her arm was causing her pain, and they easily fell into routine. If it wasn’t for the horrendous circumstances, he could almost say it was a comfort.

For the better part of the week it had taken longer than usual for him to find her in the Fade. His spies had no relevant insights into what could possibly be keeping Lavellan from her quarters. A nonessential matter most likely, perhaps a bout of insomnia or a line of overeager patricians accosting her with requests. 

“Yes,” she agreed. “With the end of the world as a vague looming threat, everyone seems to have need of my time. Now who should I thank for that, I wonder?”

Ah, needy nobles it was. 

“Initially, I had thought it a kindness to give some forewarning, I see now it has only added to your burden.” 

“Our ideas of kindness are very different,” her tone was sharper than usual, she was not playing their game. She must truly be upset then. His chest felt tight, he hadn’t heard her like this since their first encounters after the Exalted Council. 

The thought of seeing that cold calculated detachment in her eyes again made his skin crawl. “Yes, yours are platitudes while mine are intrinsic.”

“A mercy killing would be more apt.” 

“If it must come to that, then you are right.” He would not lie to her anymore, he needed her to know that this was their reality. 

A silence bled into the space between them. She sighed as she placed her head in his lap so he could continued the slow process of unweaving his mana from hers. He could feel her eyes watching him carefully. He could almost hear the question that was fighting to make it out of her mouth. 

For as close as they had become over the course of their reconciliation, he knew that there was an unspoken wall between them now. 

As there should be. 

As he wanted there to be. 

Hadn’t he?

“This must be arduously tedious for you, Solas,” she finally settled on. 

He caught the heavy sigh of relief that almost left him. “I appreciate the tedium. Focusing singularly on one task has been a welcome distraction.”

“Distraction from what, pray tell? Preparing for the destruction of the entire world as I know it?” Again that cruel tongue. He was not fully off the hook yet. 

“Nothing so dire, I’m afraid. However, I am not aware of anything more distracting than a beautiful woman resting in my lap as I extract the very essence of myself from within her.”

She smacked him with her good arm. “You dog!”

He caught the offending hand in one of his own as the other sent another cooling stream of healing magic into her shoulder. Her fingers tightened against him and he could feel her pulse race underneath his fingertips. 

“Essentially.” 

————

“My spies say you’ve been training again,” Solas remarked easily, as if commenting on the weather. 

“How kind of them. Tell me, did they report that I fell on my face only twice in the span of one round against Thom? Because I assure you they are lying to preserve my pride and yours by extension. It was five times and he didn’t know whether to smack me or hold my hand.”

He should not be considering what he most definitely was considering, but now that the thought had planted itself in his mind it was too hard to ignore. “I do not wish to alarm you, Inquisitor, but I myself am quite proficient in combat.” 

“Are you offering me your services, Solas?”

This was another responsibility, another consequence of his actions and how they affected her. It was only right, only just. 

_Selfish_, the voice in his head offered. He mentally waved it off. “I do believe I am.”

A pause, she seemed to be unable to tell if he was being genuine. He was not entirely fond of how that uncertainty reflected her current impression of him. “I’m sure you realize that we are now more or less complete enemies, especially in a battle.”

“Undoubtedly, but what fun would it be if you were at a disadvantage.” 

“Fun is the opposite of what I would call any of this.”

She did have him there. “Small pleasures, _da’lan_. Take them where you can.”

“Ah,” She laughed, hoisting herself up and aligning her body with his. “On a completely unrelated note, where did I fall on the scale of small pleasures? I imagine somewhere in the middle at least, lest we forget the Fade tongue.”

Suddenly, he noticed the most interesting scrap of nonexistent lint on his sleeve. “Should I even attempt it, I doubt any scale could ever begin to measure the force that is you, _lethal’lan_.” 

“Cheeky,” she said. “All the same, I thank you for this insight into some of the nuances of our relationship.”

He manifested two staffs, throwing one to her which she caught with only minor hesitance.   
“Happy to oblige,” his voice went firm, authoritative. “Now arm up, center you hips.” 

She did as he instructed, her reluctance ebbing away quicker than she’d probably care to admit. 

Not that he thought she would leap at the chance to engage him, but he did find it strange that she would pass up on a chance to best him in any way possible. Maybe that was more an imposition of his own wishes. Wishes he should get a better grip on for both their sakes. 

“Come,” he said with a gesture and she moved with such an instant grace that she almost bested him from the start. 

But he knew her, knew her tells and her weaknesses. Logically, he should keep them to himself— keep his cards close and stack the deck against his enemies whenever possible. 

Ultimately, Solas hated games of chance and when it came to her he wanted to level the playing field. Not to demoralize or mock, but because he knew she could rise to meet him. He knew of the greatness and fire inside of her intimately and he wished to know it again. 

He disarmed her quickly, an easy deflection at her shoulder and wrist, before he swept her ankles and left her flat against the ground. 

She landed, clearly unhappy to be taken down so efficiently, but she was up again and charging. Still favoring her right side, still leaving her flank open and available. 

They would have to amend that. 

She went to strike high, her power and speed greatly decreased from only having the force from one arm. Solas ducked, using his shoulder to counter her strike and knock her off balanced, following her movement as he gave a quick padded hit of mana at her left ribs. 

Oh, the glare she sent him as she was knocked down again could have leveled mountains. Her displeasure so blatant even down to the way her nostrils flared. It triggered a need deep, deep in his furthest reaches. Something he didn’t want to acknowledge, but had no choice when faced with it so openly now. 

She was a wonder. Fierce and determined. Unwavering and he wanted to keep it all for himself. 

He straightened. “You have two capable legs, a strong back and shoulders, utilize them. Do not default into what can no longer be. Adapt. Correct. Engage.”

“Sounds like you should take your own advice, _hahren_.” 

There was a tenseness to her now as she lunged at him for the third time, her staff moving in long arches as she tried to apply his words. 

Solas went again for the take down, but this time she used it to her advantage. Waited until he was within her range and then hooked her right arm around his neck with her elbow, using her staff as a lock against her own shoulders, all the while snaking her left leg through and around his calf. She used their momentum to throw him to the side, turning and falling after to pin him down. 

He couldn’t breathe, eyes wide in surprise as she invaded his senses. Her heavy breaths pushing their chests closer together with each intake, only to retract with each exhale. Her leg still twinned with his, her arm wrapped around his nape. The glorious curve of her neck, a drop of sweat making its way along the column that he needed so desperately to take onto his tongue—

So, so close. Too close if he was being perfectly honest, and the growing bulge in his leathers was fiercely set in keeping it that way. 

“Where do I sit on that scale now?” Lavellan smiled, sitting back and tightening her legs at his hips as she straddled him. She ground down on his straining groin in time with her words and she _knew_. 

He could no longer avoid the truth of what she was doing to him. What she always did to him. His ears burned from the implications. 

“Somewhere very near the top, I’d imagine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks, as always, for reading. 
> 
> All comments and critiques are appreciated.


	4. I Miss You More

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tags have been updated! Smut incoming :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta’d by the wonderful WardsAreFunctioning. I am beyond grateful for all their input on this chapter!

————

Her dreams gleamed with the notion of the summer sun, the world outside of this one already in the thick of its actual heat. 

He searched for her, his mana reaching out and looking for a hint of her familiarity. He felt it, distant, but strong. Solas followed that sense, drifting about narrow paths and tall trees. A dim impression of the Hinterlands surrounded him. The space was filled with memories of their first excursions together. Back when everything between them was fresh and untainted. The beginnings of the humble hermit apostate and the virgining Herald. The chaos that they had quelled a distant memory that left little markers upon the hills and valleys. 

He was guided farther, her presence growing stronger nearer the echo of a waterfall. It was nestled besides where they had liberated a Templar encampment, quick flashes of her bravery and spirit filling his senses. 

A tug on his conscious and he knew she sensed him too. A pull, a tethered beckoning he could no longer deny. 

Solas spotted her within the cascading water. Her eyes were closed and her body was shaking. 

Before he could register it, he pulled her out from the harsh stream, a sharp gasp escaping her as she was gathered against his chest. 

His hands went to grip her shoulders, pushing her back slightly so he could take her in. “What are you doing?” he demanded. 

“Waiting,” she answered simply, her thick hair wet and splattered across her forehead, breaking up the blood writing across her face. 

“Whatever for?” Solas asked, unconsciously pulling her closer. 

“For Fen’Harel to take me.”

His breath caught in his throat. He searched her face as intensely as she scanned his. 

He could not give into this again. He should not be putting her through this. 

Why did they keep doing this to each other?

She saw his hesitation. Her voice was small as she breathed a singular, “Please.”

What else could he have done?

He pulled her closer, his hands sliding away from the grip on her shoulders to her neck and back.  
She melded into him, her wet clothes and body soaking into his. She sighed at his touch and her breath ghosted over his face. 

His stomach clenched at the thought of having her like this. The intoxicating possibility of having Lavellan all to himself. His lips moved to take hers fiercely. 

Their noses bent, cheeks pressing as they desperately tried to get impossibly closer. Lavellan groaned as she cupped his face, up on tiptoes to access more of him. 

It was like nothing had changed. The feel of her against him, her sweet sighs hitting the air as he kissed along her left cheek, following the trail of her vallaslin, brushing his lips tenderly against the shell of her ear. 

“I have missed you,” he confessed.

“As have I,” she agreed, finding his mouth again and nipping tenderly at his full bottom lip. She dragged him into another impassioned embrace. 

“I have wanted you,” he broke again, stripping off her drenched shirt which flopped to the ground in a heavy heap, her arm graceful as it assisted in its removal.

“Yes.” Lavellan guided a lithe hand to her breast still loosely held in her drenched band, humming in contentment as he gripped it fully in his palm. 

“I need you.” He descended to her neck, her collar bone, the juncture at her shoulder. Kissing, biting, taking in the actuality of her presence with his teeth. 

“Then have me,” she pleaded, her neck and back in an arch as she clung to him. 

The Inquisitor quickly tired of his stalling and used their closeness to assert her weight against him, pushing them both back and away, to the side of the secluded inlet. 

Solas grunted as his back hit the side of the cliff face. Lavellan’s dominating aura continued to fuel the fire gathering in the pit of his stomach and groin. 

She kissed him again. Then liquid heat from her tongue as it traveled down his neck. Before he knew it she made quick work of his top, casting it aside as inelegantly as he had dropped hers. 

His skin was damp against her lips as she mapped the planes of his abdomen and below. He tried to reach for her, to have her fully against him and kissing him like she had always been so eager to, but she intercepted his left wrist. She anchored it at his hip as she knelt before him. 

The sight alone left him hard and wanting. 

She looked up at him, her eyes wide and searching as she gave his arm a final squeeze before letting it go. 

He couldn’t look away. He held his breath as her fingers grazed along his upper thigh before finally stopping at the strained tent of his erection. 

“Please,” she asked again, voice lowered and soft. 

“Yes.” He tried to swallow around the tightness in his throat.

She gave him a small grateful smile, a wicked heart clenching sight, as she slowly undid the ties on his pants. The easy movements of her fingers made him twitch with each passing motion. 

He finally sprung free, the Inquisitor’s eyes distracted from his as she took in the sight of him, gripping firmly around the base of his most intimate part. 

Solas had always prided himself on his ability to withstand, to stay focused on the task ahead, to endure— but as always when it came to this woman— this enchanting, remarkable, strong being…

He became a witness to his own shortcomings, and he found he no longer cared. 

How could he with that small clever tongue dragging up the length of him? What use was resistance with the warm perfect heat of her mouth as she pulled him in?

He never stood a chance. 

Her movements smoothed out, his eyes falling shut as he groaned. She gripped his base tighter, her lips stretching around his girth as she took him as deep as possible. 

He couldn’t stop the small shift of his hips as he tried to goad even the smallest fraction of himself deeper into her filled mouth and throat, but she was quicker. Her hand deftly splayed against his pelvis as she secured his back to the compact earth behind him. 

She pulled away, merciful enough to keep the smallest touch of her lips to the tip of his swollen member. “Let me.”

Their eyes connected, an acknowledgment of her instructions. He let out a shaky breath. 

She enveloped him again, a muffled hum of appreciation reverberating from her and through his core. His hands twisted into tight fists at his sides. 

He could resist, he could endure. For her he would listen. 

Lavellan’s pace quickened, obscene slopping sounds filling his overwhelmed senses, as her blunt nails dug into his hip. 

He was slipping, eyes shut tight as he moaned her name, his right palm smacked hard against the cliff face as he desperately clung to his obedience. 

Solas wanted to feel her, to have her, to give himself fully and completely to his heart. 

“_Vhen’an_,” he whimpered. “You will end me if you continue.”

She didn’t stop, sucking him impossibly tighter, lips slicked and pliable. An unraveling cord in his deepest reaches slowly slipping from his grasp. 

“My _heart_—“ 

A sudden shiver of relief as she finally released him from her vice. She was on him again, lips and nips and clawing fingers. She could only gain so much leverage against him, leaning more fully into her right side, and he used that imbalance to flip them. 

She hit the crumbling wall with more force than intended, snapping him briefly out of his haze to assure she was not hurt. She was fine, of course she was, all wetness and flushed with swollen lips in need of more attention. 

She shook her head with a laugh, her only hand gripping firmly at his nape to engage him in exactly that. 

He was needy in his urgency, a flood of hopeful contentment to almost be one with Lavellan. Not Inquisitor now, nor was he Fen’Harel. Equals meeting to worship at each other’s respective alters. Respectful and depleted and in need of absolution. 

A blur of removed clothing, smalls and all on both their parts. 

And then they both just looked. 

For once they had time. For each other, for anything. In this fragile space of want and understanding they were finally laid bare and ready. The moment lingered, their eyes tracing in all directions before landing on each other. Another glorious, glorious smile. 

Solas wanted them forever. 

“It’s time,” she said. The simplest of truths, spoken so easily, the deep weight they held known only to them. 

He nodded. A near overwhelming wave of gratitude washed over the both of them from his feelings for the woman waiting before him. 

A single touch at first, his index brushing against the curve of her hip. Those fingers traveled up, farther still until they dipped against the curve of her breasts and collar bones before skirting to her shoulder and neck. He adored that elegant slope, the way it bent and caught his eye as she angled herself more fully towards him. 

Open and so, so wanting, Solas could only oblige. He kissed her, slow and sweet as they became more settled against each other. 

“Take me, Solas.” 

And he did. 

————

They continued to meet in this way, although their meetings started occurring in softer concepts. Lush beds and cushioned expanses rather than the vague inclination of rocks and the great outdoors. Not to say they were less inclined for a tussle in the grass, but there were simply more diverting possibilities. 

Such as the possibility of her calves around his neck as he devoured the most intimate reaches of her. His fingers slick with her need and spreading her to capacity. 

This was happiness. To have her here, fully in his element. To control and shape the landscape of their meetings all to please Lavellan in any way he could. To take small pleasures of his own. 

He was endeavoring to catalogue her full vocal range and so far it had been a great success. 

————

She was filled to the brim and yet he was not content, his fingers filling her where his cock had just been, dragging them against her walls slick with his spend.

“Solas,” she pleaded, voice ragged. “I can’t, please—“

“Again.” He could never have enough. His lips traced along her inner thighs as his fingers gained momentum. “And again until I have had my fill, _vhen’an_.”

She crested at his words, warmth flooding from her in spurting waves as he coaxed them from her trembling cunt. His pupils were blown from the scene, erotic heat filling him again with need. It was insistent and unrelenting, a solid demand for her. Her and only her, for as long as he is able. 

He situated himself between her legs, a small tremor flittering through her as he brushed against her drenched sex. 

There was barely any force on his end as he penetrated through her used folds, his senses filled with the slick glide of himself in and out of her and the way her eyes rolled in time with his hips. 

“_Rosas’da’din_,” he insisted, nipping at her ear as she spasmed tightly around him. There was another gush of her completion that surged its way around his shaft as he moved within her. Lavellan let out a moan so rattled and deep that it seemed to come from her very soul itself. The sound swiftly brought him to climax within her. 

It was perfection, a primal clemency. 

And it would never be enough. 

————

“You are looking rather thin, _emma’lath_. Is your grand legion not feeding you?”

Solas fought the urge to roll his eyes. “I may have forfeited a meal or two as of late.”

“You always were so picky. Tell me, did they not make the honeyed ram to your specifications?” The smile she gave a clear indication that she knew she was getting to him. He was not going to engage in this conversation, a burning flush reaching his ears. 

Or maybe he was. “I am not picky.” 

“Finicky, then,” she teased. “Really, that should have been the tip off from the get go. The only time you ever praised food was at Halamshiral. An apostate who wasn’t grateful for whatever slop they had been served? A meal’s a meal when you don’t know where the next one is coming from. Oh, and that ridiculous hat. Obvious marks of a devious ancient God in our midst and I missed them all.”

He gave her a patient smile, he truly had indulged too much that night. “All it took to throw you off my scent was to flash my strikingly good looks and arcane knowledge in your general vicinity and I was safe for another day.” 

“Now you sound like Dorian,” she said. “Maker, how he would so disapprove of all of this.” Lavellan emphasized with a flippant wave between them. 

“Ah yes, the signature Pavus disapproval. So fortunate that he has finally grown into those Magisterium shoes. How _is_ he reacclimating to life under the Imperium? Are you two still using that invention of his...what was it, a messenger crystal? A fascinating device, I would like to see it myself,” he mused. 

“As if you aren’t keeping tabs on us all,” she sent him a warning glare and he held up his hands to his chest in surrender. “You’re changing the subject. Why haven’t you been eating?”

Persistent as ever. “I have had too much on my metaphorical plate to even consider one in the literal sense. Nothing to worry yourself over, Inquisitor. There is simply not much to tempt here. Our cooks are all too lenient with their spices and stick to hearty redundant staples.”

“Anything sounds better than what we’ve been scrounging up at camp,” she lamented. 

“I always thought you did a superb job of living off the land,” he said, mildly surprised at her reluctance. 

“What? I thought you hated my cooking.” And she did look genuinely shocked. Had he really never told her before?

“No! Quite the contrary, what ever gave you that idea?” 

Her voice raised shrilly in her protest. “You would always scurry off whenever I had cooking duties!” 

Solas felt the acute sting of embarrassment. What a blunder this was, indeed. 

“That had nothing to do with your abilities. It would have been difficult to deflect any questions as to why your meals made me teary eyed.” It had been painful at first to watch her as she went about fixing their meals. Even the simple acts required for the process, or more accurately the _implications_ behind them. To witness the lineage of her homely motions. That this shade of his people had regressed into her rudimentary meals. Into nutty pastes and cured meats. The distant echo of all that he knew visceral on his tongue because of her. It was overwhelming. 

“_What_?!” That shrillness went up another impossible octave. “How have we never talked about this? No, never mind, I am well aware that communication has never been our strong suit, but I wholeheartedly thought you hated it so much you had to remove yourself from the offending source...this is so embarrassing.” She covered her face with her palm, a useless attempt to hide away. 

He laughed, pulling her hand away and laying a kiss in her tender palm. “I am sorry for giving you that impression, and I can see how my actions exasperated it. But truly, I cherished your meals. Even the simple ones. You made this very nondescript broth of some sort once when we were in the Emerald Graves, and it very nearly broke me.”

“Undone by a broth!? You cannot expect me to believe that,” she accused. 

“It is _true_, my heart. Food was a long and difficult transition after I took physical form, and that broth brought me straight back to Elvhenan. Runny stews and small scraps of flat breads were all I could stomach for decades.” He traced the lines of her face, watching as her look of shock slowly fell into this exasperated fondness that made his heart thunder. “There was always something distinct with your seasoning, although I cannot pinpoint what exactly.”

“Elfroot stems,” she said softly. 

“I beg pardon?” 

“Elfroot stems,” Lavellan repeated. “I’ve noticed most only use the leaves, but the flavor is kept in the stems, the roots as well if you can clean them delicately enough. The Dalish could never afford to be so wasteful with our resources as to simply pick the leaves and toss the rest. I guess it kept.” 

“So it would seem,” he nodded. “I thank you for disclosing such a well kept culinary secret, maybe now I will be able to keep something down.”

“Yes, well, if presenting yourself all scrawny-like is some sort of tactic to appear like a charity case to garner sympathy, then you are succeeding,” she poked at his side. 

“Message received, thank you Inquisitor. I will endeavor to consume something within the next half century.”

“See that you do,” she agreed, satisfied, “It would be a crying shame for you to waste away before putting your plans into action.” A pause. “On second thought…” 

He promptly ended the conversation by pinning her beneath him and silencing her thoroughly. It was hard to protest with a lover’s tongue wrapped around one’s own. 

————

“You’re getting close aren’t you?” 

He hummed idly, subconsciously unwilling to face the future that awaited them outside of this dream. 

“Is that what your informants are telling you?” He turned himself to hold her more fully in his arms. 

She sighed, her tone minimally amused. “It’s not my fault your agents are acting distinctly squirrelly. They’re practically handing themselves to us.”

“Maybe I have instructed them to do so.”

“Undoubtedly,” she agreed, turning to face him. 

There was something in her eyes that he couldn’t quite read, this buried expression he’d never seen from her before. Not dishonesty, but something erring on uncertainty. 

She finally collected herself, her good hand coming up to caress his chin. “How much time do we have left?”

He frowned, he could never hide his despair from her, especially not here. Especially not now. “No more than a year, less probably.”

A weighted silence as they looked at each other, memorizing every crease and mark and curve. 

“We are borrowing time that is not rightly ours.” 

“We are,” he agreed, taking her hand in his and pulling their twined fingers between their chests, tucking them away safely. 

“_Ar lath ma_, Solas.” 

A sigh, a beat. A brief touch of noses as his eyes fell closed. 

“_Ar lath ma, vhen’an_.”

————

For the first time in their dozing coexistence, she came to him in the Fade. 

The air about her was frantic, eyes purposefully downcast as she paced before him. She stopped several times, mouth open as if to speak, before closing it and easily transitioning back into her quick back and forth. 

Solas was many things, patient being chief among them, but this was already filling him with unease. Finally she spoke.

“We need to end this.” 

_Oh_. 

“Oh.” It was like the floor dropped beneath him. 

She pressed on when he did not continue. “I have come to the realization that there is nothing I could possibly do to persuade you from your path. Nor should I. I believe your cause is just, but I do not condone your methodology.” Her hand opened and clenched into a small fist at her side. A small movement, barely perceivable, but he knew her. 

He _knew _her. 

“I see,” he said. Words simple, voice even, his brain working to solve exactly what it was that felt so off about what was happening. 

This was not his Inquisitor. She was decisive, certain. She made up her mind and never swayed. Her will, indomitable. Always. Even to him, _especially_ to him. 

So then why was she doing this?

“I know when I have been beaten and I cannot bear the thought that I have somehow given you leave to continue in your actions.”

_Lies_. He knew it in his gut. 

This was a ploy, a tactic to throw him off. Perhaps the Inquisition had found some fault in his plans and were going to begin their open engagement of his forces.

No, that did not sit right and there were no prior indications. Maybe it was something worse… could she possibly be? Was she?

It must be. What other reason was there?

She was giving up on him... he was a lost cause. 

He did this. He had pushed her to this. 

It hurt. Hurt more than he knew it should. He was prepared for this; Prepared for her anger, prepared for her inevitable rebuff of him. Prepared for their guaranteed end. 

So then, why was he shaking? 

He should have expected this sooner, if anything. 

His tongue finally regained function. “What was the purpose of all of this then? Closure? _Spite_? I may have been foolish enough to engage you in this way, but for once in our relationship the blame falls equally on your shoulders. At your behest, this should not be something I have to carry alone.” 

She fell silent, eyes averted down in shame. Then she looked at him with a smile so tragically forced that it would be forever stained into his memory. Her eyes brimmed with tears. “I am weak.”

No, she was many things, but weak was never among them. This was not like her. She was never one to give in so easily. There was something else, there _had_ to be more to this, but for the life of him he could not figure out _what_.

He reached for her, the urge to soothe greater than anything else. “_Vhen’an_—”

She stepped away. “No, no more. Solas, _please_.” 

What could he say? He had imposed on her enough. 

“If this is truly what you want.” His chest felt too tight, he could feel that mask slipping back into place. He never wanted that mask for her, never wanted to turn it against her in his own favor. But now he had no other choice or he may resort to begging. 

“Our wants should have never been a consideration,” the broken tone of her voice only drove the uneasiness further in his mind. Even down to her posture. It wasn’t her usually confident demeanor, or her calm intensity, but almost...fearful. 

She was afraid. 

For the first time in months he could see those green manic tendrils more vividly than ever before. Wrapping around her, coiling and consuming. 

_His doing, his doing, because of **him**_. The voice would not desist. 

Solas felt as if the wind had been knocked from his lungs. He straightened, hands behind his back, eyes never leaving hers. “If it is what you need, then.”

If they parted like this he was leaving her to die. She would be consumed by that uncontrollable magic. The magic he had put there. The magic he could not gain control over. 

Why was it growing stronger? Why had he not thought to check sooner?

_Weak, weak, **weak**._ The voice an incessant chant. 

“It would be kinder in the long run,” she breathed, and it was a sharp stab to his ego. A smaller part of him was screaming defiantly. She was trying to hurt him, she was pushing him away too strongly. This was _wrong_. 

What could he say? He was terrified. His worst fears coming to a head. 

It was time to remove himself from her and her from him. 

At the very least he could do that. 

They stood mere steps away from each other, and yet the distance was insurmountable. 

“Goodbye, Inquisitor.”

He couldn’t look away, because if he did that would be the end. The end of this small corner of happiness they had carved for themselves. The end of her smiles and touches. The end of his hope. 

“Goodbye, Solas.”

He woke up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rosas’da’din - Come (sexually)
> 
> All Elvhen taken from Project Elvhen here on AO3.  
————
> 
> Get ready folks, we’re in it now. 
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	5. Every Stumble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tags have been updated. Please make sure you double check for some of the heavier themes dealt with in this chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta’d by the fandom’s dearest, WardsAreFunctioning. If not for them, this story would be a lot less rounded and more painful to read!
> 
> This is the angstiest this story gets. We’ve hit the bottom and it’s all up from here. I promise it has a happy ending :)

————

This wasn’t right. Solas could not shake his unease. 

His spies had no new or indicative information for him from Skyhold. Nothing that would grant him further insight into their estrangement. 

He imagined if he had any hair at the time it all would have been ripped out by now. He settled instead for small scraps of parchment which he twisted and plucked until they practically disintegrated between his fingertips. 

Solas went to her in the Fade when the paper and tea could no longer hold him back. Or at least he thought he had. 

He could sense her everywhere— and yet no Lavellan. He searched all her usual haunts, catching a glimpse of her presence around wavering corners and iridescent bends, but never quite her. Never solidly. They were all inclinations. 

She was there. He _knew_ she was there, but he could not see her. Despite all his power over the Fade there was something or perhaps _someone_, overcoming him. 

Maybe it was a small mercy she was hidden to him now, it was shameful to pursue her in this way.

He would have to accept the reality before him. 

She had given up. 

He let it come to this. She must have fully realized the true immensity of his actions and could not stomach him for another moment. Not even the chance of him in her dreams. 

She should have her peace. She deserved his absence. It was the least he could give her. He would follow this one request. 

It was truly goodbye, but Solas was not ready. 

————

Solas sat, empty and alone. 

Everything was falling into place, his focus severely recentered since the sudden absence of the Inquisitor. 

It was fearsome how much an _i've'an'virelan_ could accomplish without such engaging distractions. 

But today… Well, he had remembered something. An inconsequential thing. A detail, a blip. A small song Lavellan would sing. Muted and understated. Calm and lulling. 

It had flitted through his mind without reason, pulling him away from strategizing and implementing. The distinct smell of ocean spray along the Storm Coast. Her hair damp and nappy.

“A song for the rain,” she had told him. 

“Your voice will go before the rain does,” he had quipped. He could still hear her surprised laugh. 

His stomach clenched, heart dropping. 

He missed her. 

He was cruel. 

This was a mistake. 

He could still...

No.

No, there would be no use. Even for small hums as uplifting as a hymn. Regardless of a lilting melody holding like a vice around his heart. 

It wasn’t enough.

It should be. 

But it wasn’t. 

————

In this moment— as the Veil came tumbling out of oblivion and the world sundered, Solas was faced with the stark contrast between now and when he had rendered it in the first place. 

The Great Betrayal had been like a dam, clogging and ending and separating intertwined strands with the finest needle. 

But _this_…

This was a torrent. A violent regurgitation, a strangled cry for equilibrium. 

He could only hope that he had finally gotten it right. How many more chances could he possibly be granted to correct his wrongs? He was scraping the bottom of the well on the universe’s charity as it was. 

He should not linger here, but he could not pull himself away. Though he’d be loathe to admit it, he knew who he was waiting for. 

The battle had finally made its way to him and he felt nothing. 

Solas couldn’t feel her anywhere. 

_She should be here_. His consciousness finally settled back into himself, frantic and uncertain. _She should be here_. 

He could not imagine his end from any other source. This was supposed to be, and yet she was nowhere to be seen. 

He felt the spark of familiar lightening, its crack strong and boisterous— much like its master. 

Suddenly, Dorian was upon him with a quickness he had never seen exhibited by the Magister before. 

“You don’t know what you have done!” Dorian accused, staff alight with fire and his eyes equally ablaze. “You’ve killed her! She bore your burdens and it killed her!”

That stopped the Dread Wolf in his tracks. The frozen mana in his hands ebbed away. His mouth was dry, his pulse stuttering. 

“She...” he tried to swallow around what must be his heart in his throat, bidding for time as his thoughts raced. “She’s gone?”

“She was with child,” Dorian roared. “_Your_ child. She has been fading for months, you sanctimonious bastard!—”

Dorian lunged for him in a desperate rage, diving head first into close combat. Solas deftly deflected the blade at the end of his staff, twisting his body in a constricted circle to catch Dorian’s ankle with his heel. 

The man stumbled, but caught himself at the last moment, back rigid and stance wide. 

“You are selfish, and arrogant.” The end of Dorian’s staff dragged along the ground. “You took her! My dearest friend—”

The Magister came again, using his staff for leverage, lightening glaring off it in waves as he tried to trip up the Wolf’s feet. But Solas was nimble— his war record far more experienced than Dorian’s could ever hope to be. With a quick step and shift of his weight Solas managed to snap the weapon a third of the way up between the arch of his foot and the ground underneath. Solas gripped the front of Dorian’s armour, pulling him forward and off balance, the folds of his undershirt coming up as the long fingers in his gauntlets tangled on the delicate chain around Dorian’s throat. 

Dorian quickly tried to jerk away and that’s when he heard it.

A cry so achingly wonderful, muffled and dissonant out of the crystal in the necklace snagged tightly on Solas’ guarded fingers. 

His blood went cold, his vision almost tunneling. A thousand words and exchanges from lifetimes ago flooding his senses. He’d done this before. He’d heard those cries. He had held his children and he had buried them and Mythal was guarding them as he made good on his word to her. 

His mana overwhelmed and took over his body, eyes going blinding white as he scorched the earth. The decaying world around them a shy comparison to the destruction he was now raging. She couldn’t be, she couldn’t, _she couldn’t—_

Dorian could only react so quickly, his barrier hasty and useless in the face of the God now before him. 

The world was ending. 

And him with it. 

Let them see. Let them know the magnitude of their destruction. 

A monstrous six eyed wolf, black as death and howls ripping through the chasmed sky. The bringer of nightmares, and the true world was waking up. 

It all mattered so little. 

His heart was already leading him to her. 

————

His journey to Skyhold was a blur, mind racing in time with his odious paws. Solas scaled the ramparts with ease, momentum finally diminishing as he breached her balcony and faded back into himself. 

And there she was. 

Still as a painting, skin gone cold. 

The world was collapsing outside of these walls, and yet...

How could he pull himself away? How could he even begin on the path she was now putting him on?

Her abdomen was still distended, creating a graceful arc against the sheets carefully placed around her. 

If he willed it hard enough he could almost convince himself she was only sleeping. That she was waiting for him to join her in the Fade. Like they had months and months ago. She could still be there...she could...

“Where is the babe?” His voice was a cold and empty sound. 

He heard Morrigan shift behind him. “Tis no concern of yours.” Haughty as ever. 

A furious blip of magic surged through him at her words and for a singular moment he wanted to strangle that audacity out of her. 

His eyes flashed and he watched as Morrigan was willed into compliance. “Tell me, what does the Well say about your disobedience?”

He hadn’t left his spot perched next to the Inquisitor’s body, idly brushing stray hairs away from her face. His eyes roamed her slack features. The curve of the vallaslin that still filled her brow and cheeks and chin. He took the small brass necklace that was held in her motionless hand— identical to the one Dorian had on the battlefield, and he clasped it closed around the crystal inside, tucking it into the pouch at his hip. 

How could she have done this? 

Morrigan’s voice was shaking, afraid as she should be. “Mythal now resides within you...” The silence between them was so heavy he could taste it; Bitter bile on his tongue. 

“Then I will tell you once more. _Sul’ema esha’lin_.” 

He gained no joy from bending Morrigan to his will. He gained no joy from this situation whatsoever. As the woman descended the stairs from the Inquisitor's quarters to retrieve the child from wherever they had been hoping to conceal them from him, Solas felt nothing but emptiness. In the wake of the New World— he was here, sat on the deathbed of his lover. 

All of it seemed inconsequential. The steady sound of his heart in his chest. 

He had killed her. 

Not by his hands, or his purpose. 

But by his heart, his weakness to keep himself away. 

He had to have known. What other option would there have been for the two of them? Death and deception. That’s all he had brought her. 

All he brought to anything.

No more. He could no longer bear it. The mask of Fen’Harel was suffocating, the weight of it too heavy. It crumbled away as he gripped her limp right hand in both of his, bringing it to his lips as he began to weep. He couldn’t breathe, an eternity of remorse accumulating into this.

“_Ir’abelas vhen’an_,” he lowered his head farther. “You were alone and I— I should have—.”

“She was not alone,” Morrigan spoke, breaking him from his misery. “She was surrounded by those she held dear until the battle before the Veil fell, then she had myself through the rest. Above all else, she had him.” The witch’s head gestured towards the wrapped bundle in her arms. 

Solas froze, his eyes trained on the woman as she approached. His heart was racing in his chest, the pulsing rush of blood filling his ears. 

He saw those green tendrils that had plagued Lavellan surrounding and emanating from the spaces in the cloth. Only now it wasn’t a curse, but a life force. Strong and caressing. 

His body moved without him registering the action, the gentle transfer of his child into his arms. Solas took everything in, the crown of the baby’s forehead, small wrinkled eyes closed in blissful sleep, reddish soft skin so fresh and new. 

His hand pulled away more of the cloth, revealing the full roundness of his son’s cheeks. There was a breathless sob that he only vaguely recognized as his own.

“_An'daran Atish'an, da’sa_,” he smiled, finding a tiny hand that clenched around his finger instinctually. 

“None of us believed her at first,” Morrigan drawled, breaking the precious moment and crashing him back to reality. “A child conceived in the Fade. Tis truly fascinating.”

“I am sure it was a great comfort to know that she was a trifling conundrum in your eyes rather than a person faced with an impossible circumstance.” His words were harsh, angry with nowhere to direct it, but his voice remained in that soft cadence since greeting his son. 

“People can be many things at once, Fen’Harel. I am sure you are no stranger to this.” She sounded a little too proud of herself for his liking. 

“Before or after?” Solas asked instead, quietly bringing the bundle closer to his face. Worry pulled at him from the uncertainty. 

“After,” Morrigan said, actually smiling of all things. “She held off as long as she could, despite my advice otherwise. Twas a risky gamble, but she fought against the nature of it to ensure he could survive, even if it meant she would not. The Inquisitor knew you would succeed despite her wishes otherwise.”

The words gutted him. A painful mix of gratitude and grief. Their child would live, her final gift to him. His hand caressed her face again, trying to suppress the trembling in his fingers before it spread to the rest of him. “_Ma melava halani, emma’lath_.” 

A breath. He steeled himself, there was much to be done. 

“I will be taking them now. You are welcome as well, if you see it fit.” Solas could not actually recall if he had ever seen Morrigan shocked speechless, but it was something that should be done more often in his opinion. “That extends to your son, of course.”

“A most generous offer, Dread Wolf, but I…_we_ have other matters to attend,” She hesitated, “but perhaps, in time, we will come to join you.”

Solas nodded in acknowledgment, with no inclination to persuade her otherwise. “Then that leaves one small matter left.” He managed to bring his touch away from the body besides him, focusing on that glimmer deep within himself that felt warm and familial. 

He pulled what remained of Mythal from within himself, a white orb of wavering magic that hung between them. 

Again the shock and again the affirmation that this was a side of Morrigan he could actually come to tolerate. “It was Mythal’s wish for you to carry it. It will free you from your bindings to her and consequently from me, though I never wished it in the first place.” 

“It did not stop you from twisting it to your advantage.” She was clearly still on edge. 

He could understand that, he held her life in his hands to an extent. 

“Yes, a terrible temptation, although matters often turn morally ambiguous when regarding one’s child. An ambiguity I am sure you are familiar with.” He took in a breath, extending his hand to implore her to take it. “Apologies all the same.”

“I imagine you have greater matters at hand to apologize for, Fen’Harel. Twould do you credit to consider that first before you lay your remorse at my feet.” She took the essence despite her trepidation and it was an unimaginable relief on his end. 

“Thank you, for being with her in the end,” Solas said. “For my son as well. I will never forget your kindness.” He built up his magic, layering it like a thick coat around himself and the other two he was now responsible for.

“Twas not for you. She deserved no less.” 

“On that, we can both agree.” He frowned. A miserable slant that kept Morrigan from any further beratement. 

A blink and they were gone. 

————

There was no time for anything grand, though he doubted she would have wanted anything of the sort. 

Her body was carefully wrapped in delicate silks with faint embroidered floral chains throughout. Silks much like the ones that tied their child so securely to him as he placed her into the earth. 

Alerion slept through the entire ceremony, informal and brief as it was. The soft wisps of hair at the babe’s crown tickling his jaw as he kneeled in the freshly upturned dirt, cool and fragrant in his hands. 

Solas carefully unwrapped a thick cloth around a green sapling before placing it in the shallow hole he had dug directly above where Lavellan’s body finally rested. 

He covered the roots, hands trembling as brilliant flashes of her filled his mind’s eye. 

He let them come, for once no longer denying the depth of his attachment, the full scope of his devotion and love. Fragments of guilt and regret swiftly followed and he let them permeate the soil all in equal measure, a vain hope to let them be buried along with her. He would bury himself too if he could. 

But that wouldn’t change anything. He still had other responsibilities outside of himself. Outside of them. 

He willed himself to focus on happier thoughts. Only the good into this tree, only the entrancing curve of her smile and the sweet strength in her resolve. 

How telling of their relationship that only now he could be his most honest self for her. 

Solas thanked her again and again before it slowly dissolved into broken apologies. A mantra that could not be stopped. 

Alerion’s small hungry cries were what finally brought him back, Solas blankly murmuring assurances against his child’s brow as he stood. 

There was work to be done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All Elvhen is taken from Project Elvhen here on AO3.
> 
> i've'an'virelan - fade walker  
Sul’ema esha’lin - Bring me my child  
Ir’abelas vhen’an - Forgive me, my heart  
An'daran Atish'an, da’sa - You are safe here, little one  
Ma melava halani, emma’lath - You have done me a great kindness/service, my love.
> 
> ———
> 
> Thank you for reading! I hope the melodrama hasn’t turned anyone away. I promise things start to look up from here on out.


	6. And Each Misfire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a short one! Hope you enjoy it! :))

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks, as always, to WardsAreFunctioning! I appreciate them more than I could ever say. 
> 
> Also thank you to those who have left kudos/comments! They mean so much <3

————

Many had survived The Fall. However, the influx of survivors did nothing to abate the casualties. They had been too great to fully grasp in the first waking days. _Completely unnecessary_ the voice in his head supplied, but still...

This had been more than he could have ever hoped. Survivors of all races alike, the vast majority mages in their own right. Even the dwarves had surprised him. The unending guilt abated for a small blissful moment as he scoured the faces surrounding his temple. 

He found that all that was left in the wake of this absent guilt was an unmitigated, all-consuming exhaustion. 

Solas was so very tired. 

Alerion stirred briefly in the wrap across his chest, his lassitude forgotten as he resumed the idle rocking that seemed to be his constant state of being since taking his son into his arms. A hand automatically caressed along the babe’s back. 

How was he going to manage this? He had achieved his goal, but he had never thought past this point; He was so sure that death would have come for him by now. So assured that it would’ve been by her hand. 

That would have been justice. It would have been right. 

He placed a soft kiss on Alerion’s tiny fist that somehow always managed to free itself from it’s swaddle and latch tightly to the fur at his collar. 

This was a death of its own he supposed. 

When was the last time he had simply slept? No fade walking, no scheming or plotting. No romancing estranged other halves and conceiving impossible fade-children and consequently leading his lover to their death. 

There was a lot to unpack there. Solas decided that burying it way, _way_ down deep was his standard default for a reason. 

As for now, he had not the time nor the energy to address any of it. 

The world moved on despite his dragging feet. Solas dedicated himself to relief efforts for the new People. He worked tirelessly to establish a flourishing foundation for them _all_ to grow and thrive in. He had the resources now. He had the time and most importantly he had the power. He would use it for what great power should always be used for. 

For the good. For the just. Finally he could set something right. 

Morrigan and Kieran joined them the following autumn, bringing the cold cusp of winter along in their wake. 

They established a tenuous alliance— Kieran’s keen interest in Alerion the perfect buffer for the two to slowly cast their differences aside and build something more amenable than wary distaste. 

Solas suspected it was a development that Lavellan would have been pleased about. 

That was enough for him. 

————

Alerion only slept on his chest. 

Despite the developing crick in his neck, this suited Solas just fine. His other children had been easy in this regard. They had been happy to rest where they were placed and Solas too busy to really consider any other arrangement. He had been distracted enough to bid them farewell as he went off to secure his duty to the People and Mythal. He had been willingly trustful of the arsenal of caregivers at his disposal. 

He no longer had the luxury of trust and nothing would convince him to subject Alerion to even the slightest chance of misfortune. 

But the boy never cried, except for when Solas attempted to put him down, and the sound broke the Dread Wolf’s heart. 

He’s so very weak for his son. 

Morrigan warned of spoiling the babe. He could almost hear Mythal in her chiding tone. 

This too suited Solas fine. Let him be spoiled, for there was no such thing when it came to the love of a parent. He had already robbed the boy of half of that allotment as it was. Soon enough when sleep finally came, neck bent back and away awkwardly to accommodate his child’s precious little head, he would find himself wandering the Fade. Solas found Alerion easily enough and they started to share impossible dreams together. 

Spoiling had never felt so sweet. 

————

Surprisingly, there had only been three major attempts on his life in the months following The Fall. 

The would-be-assassins were dealt with swiftly— Solas calm and in control as they came in the night in an attempt to lay their hands on himself or his child. 

Each time, he moved them further away from the hub of the recovering populace. Each time, he placed his wards deeper and farther out after leading them through a more complex link of eluvians. 

He did not take it personally— although the chance of any harm coming to Alerion did leave the sharp taste of retribution on the back of his tongue. More than anything, it was exhausting. 

There had been enough death. He had contributed to it in abundance. 

But there could be no half measures. He had to send back an undisputable message, for his son’s future safety. 

_Do not come for us, and I will not come for you._

They eventually settled out in the sprouting groves very near where he had laid Lavellan to rest. A sizable plot of fertile earth and he began the construction of their little life together. 

It felt...almost right. Almost homely. Almost as it should be. 

Maybe he could have this?

Maybe he should have this?

So he did. 

————

Solas felt his wards tingle against his skin— a small warning at his periphery. 

He pulled himself away from the canvas he had been engaged with, idly wiping any stray paint from his fingers and palms. He tugged at the cloth strapped through the ring at his collar, carefully tightening Alerion’s swaddle at his back. 

There was no rush. These visits were becoming regular. 

He opened the front door, if only to stop the knocking. 

“They are looking for someone to lead them. You owe them that at the very least, Fen’Harel,” the elf demanded, cascading white braid falling elegantly over his shoulder. 

“Good afternoon to you as well, Abelas,” he sighed, voice quiet and level to indicate the other male should do the same. 

Abelas did lower his tone if only to appease him. “The People fear instability, it is only a matter of time before power grabs are made. You could mitigate the uncertainty. Give them guidance.” 

Solas gestured for the sentinel to enter, stepping to the side and closing the door behind them. “I will not rule anyone. It is up to them to shape their own future. I am done pulling at strings and meddling.”

“They only require someone to meddle because of your doings, Dread Wolf.” 

“The Dread Wolf is dead. Let it remain that way.” There was no mistaking the threat behind his words. 

She would be so disappointed in him. He knew it down in his gut. This was his mess, more or less, and here he was leaving others to pick up after him. A coward hiding out in the woods. 

He was so familiar with the guilt that it hardly had any hold on him now. The world was better off without him, his interference would only bring further suffering. In all his years, he had learned at least that much. 

A sigh. “Have you not thought of leading them yourself, Abelas?” 

“Never. It is beyond my nature.”

“And yet here you are, petitioning in their best interest.”

“I am the only one you will lend an ear to, let alone let into your lair.”

“Your modesty does you no credit, my friend.”

“So you will not listen,” Abelas’ voice raised the smallest of margins, enough to cause Solas to straighten himself and broaden his stance. 

“No. Do not ask me again.”

“You will do nothing?” he demanded. 

“I have done enough.” Solas clenched his fists at his side, trying to remain passive and in control. They had spoken at length about this already. This was in everyone’s favor for him to relinquish any claim that he may have on the world at large. 

“How happy for you then, to achieve all your goals and to simply rid yourself of the consequences. Tell me, what is it like to get everything you want?”

“Everything I want?” Solas laughed, a heartless rush of disbelief. “I imagine it feels much like a mercy. To endure and endure and then to finally achieve. But what I have brought was only within my duty, Abelas, and I am sure you know a great deal about how it feels to fail even that.”

“We are not the same.”

“We are not different.” Alerion stirred, Solas reaching back and gently placing his palm against the babe preemptively. 

“I am sorry to have disturbed you,” Abelas said with a nod. “But something must be done.”

“Then _do_. Do what I cannot.”

With a practiced motion, Solas pulled a now awake Alerion free of the cloth sling, placing his forehead to his son’s in greeting. 

Abelas made to leave, his hand on the door when Solas spoke again.

“But please, whatever you decide, have it be done far from here.”


	7. IMY, IMY

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> beta’d by the irreplaceable WardsAreFunctioning.

————

Solas walked slowly to match the toddling gate of Alerion following dutifully behind him. 

The large grove that had emerged around Lavellan’s burial site was glorious in the morning light, and the two made their way through swaying emerald canopies. It was through the tireless work of several spirits, no doubt, that it came to be so, and the thought brought a sharp pang of bittersweet joy to his heart. He sent out a grateful diffusion of mana through his entire surroundings in the hope that they could feel it too. 

“_Garas, da’sa,_” he entreated, noticing his son’s easily distracted gaze as he found something alluring enough to stray from the worn path. 

Alerion gave a triumphant babble, crouching down on wobbling knees to grab a stray leaf before listening to his father and following again. 

“What have you found?” Solas asked gently, stopping to allow the child to catch up. “A treasure?”

His son waved his tightly fisted hand around, the leaf swaying in the breeze generated by the movement before catching sight of another. Alerion happily grabbed it up in his other equally chubby fist. 

“Two of them,” he acknowledged, a surprised inflection in his tone purely for Alerion’s benefit. “A bountiful hunt, _da’vhen’an_.”

His son paid him little mind as they continued up the familiar trek. Solas teased the tot with the promise of a chase, the anticipatory laughter a soothing balm as Alerion toddled faster to get away. He finally pounced, taking the child up high in his arms. A joyful squeal filled the air. He layered several kisses along those full ruddy cheeks, giving a short raspberry to Alerion’s neck just to hear his laugh again, before settling him against his chest. 

“Let us say good morning to Mamae.”

————

It had been years. Solas and Alerion still kept with their weekly tradition of a morning walk to Lavellan’s grave. 

But today they had a visitor, Solas’ smile wide as he greeted him. “Cole. It has been some time, my friend.”

“Has it?” The blond asked, “I could come back later if you’d like.”

“No, your timing is impeccable,” Solas insisted, clasping a hand on his friend’s shoulder. Alerion was already approaching in interest. “Alerion, this is Cole, a spirit of Compassion. You met him once when you were very young.”

“I am still very young, Babae,” his son sassed. 

“Younger still then,” he agreed. 

“_He has her eyes as he has my chin, my little heart, my world_. Fresh kindling, the fire burns another day,” Cole rambled, and he watched his son look up at this stranger with a cautious awe. 

“He senses people’s hurt and sees to its mending,” Solas explained. 

Alerion’s eyes went wide and he quickly pressed against his father, holding tightly to his leg for comfort. “You are hurt, Babae?” 

A sharp sting to his heart, his wonderful precious boy. “Only a little, _da’fen_,” he soothed, picking the child up and holding him tightly in reassurance. 

Alerion was reaching an age where the hugs and holding were growing fewer and fewer by the day and Solas dreaded the moment when they finally ceased. It was never so blatant than now as he used more strength than usual to support the child-shaped weight in his arms.

He paid it little mind, his heart full as his son hugged him back with equal force. 

Solas lowered the boy back to the ground, patting his back to entice him away. “Go, _da’sa_, there are friends to find in the vale.”

The child’s eyes sparkled at the prospect, smiling and running off into the open valley besides them. 

Solas turned to Cole, nodding once. “There is something you wish to tell me?”

Cole found a flat stone which easily doubled as a seat, picking at his fingers as he lowered himself down. “The wound needs closing. I would like to help.”

Solas acquiesced, placing himself besides his friend. 

“You think of her often. She is always there, waiting in little chastisement when Alerion isn’t behaving. She thought of you too until the end.”

Then Cole dove straight in, dragging Solas down with him. 

“_I should have told him, I should have **told** him_. Heart aches, body breaking. Small glances, _I’ll miss his smile_.”

“Cole, please—“ Solas started, his chest tightening. Even now, it was still too fresh. 

The spirit did not relent, continuing further in his tangent. “The world cracks, she knows. It’s safe now, they will be safe. He won’t be alone. A final push, forceful, stretched, too much, too much. _He should be here_. A plug pulled, uncorked and flowing. Baby soft, cries so beautiful. Speechless, grateful. _A boy, a boy!_ Pride, deep sorrow, asleep at her breast.”

Solas slid his face into his hands as he finally broke, his son playing so sweetly just a small ways off. “Enough,” he choked.

Cole could not hear him. He was in it now, this must be said, it’ll mend the hurt. “Empty, nearing depletion, fading like everything else. _I’m sorry, isha’len. Be happy, live. Ar lat—_ Warmth, a spark chased away. The embers snuffed, lit no more.”

Compassion finally seemed to come to, breaking the surface out of his internal spiral. He blinked, as if only seeing his surroundings for the first time, before slowly turning towards the man silently weeping besides him. 

“I...” the blond started, “I thought it would help.” 

Solas tightened his grip on his misery, straightening his back as he took in a deep breath. “You did. You always do.”

“She wanted this for you,” Cole said. “Even more than herself. For you she would endure. Forgive.”

“She should not have suffered alone,” Solas lamented, secure in sharing his hurt with a dear friend. “We could have found another way.”

“She was following by example.” The words must be the truth no matter how strongly his heart raged in denial. “A deep ache, so sweet like love. Is love a duty? A duty, sublime. The death of any is the death of one.”

Solas took another breath, squaring his shoulders and keeping his eyes trained on his singular joy. 

Alerion had found a wisp to chase— his growing legs quick and soft brow slicked with sweat. Gleaming white teeth split his face in a carefree grin, so much like hers it could break him if he let it. 

“It is done,” his tone was determinedly even, another grateful pull at his heart for both her and his son; For this undeserved chance that was not his to take. 

She had given it to him despite that and he would not fail Lavellan again. 

He took another slow breath before turning to Cole. “You are always welcome to stay, my friend.”

Cole nodded. “I will, soon perhaps.”

“I look forward to it.” 

Solas truly did. 

————

“Our son is a marvel,” Solas confessed softly, sitting besides the tree that had thrived since he planted it. “His head is filled with these remarkable tales that he will tell to anyone who will hear them. And if they will not hear it he will charm them until they do. Most of the vendors at the market are quite taken with him already, and I suspect it will not be long before the rest follow suit.”

He could practically see the look Lavellan would have given him with perfect clarity— that knowingly sarcastic arch in her brow. “I cannot say where he received such a talent and I suppose it will forever remain a mystery.”

“He will be eight this month.” The humor faded as he took a breath. He allowed himself to picture her beside him, knowing exactly how she would’ve felt against him. How he longed for even the slightest graze of her fingers against his or for her to be able to experience their son grow as he had. He would have loved to have known that part of her— to witness it himself. 

“You should be here, with us... with _him_ at the very least.”

A deep breath. “You told me once that I gave my entirety to everything except for myself, except for you, and you were right. If I had, then perhaps I could spend eternity proving to you how wholly you have me. It was deeply unfair of me to accept your love— to expect it and _want_ it, without considering our limitations. Or at least without letting you know of them, or for me to expect such a courtesy when I had never shown the same to you.”

He dragged a hand down his face, resting his chin against his palm. “How is it I have lived so long and still need to learn so much? One would think I would know better. Or know anything at all, as it were.”

“But I have cherished it, _vhen’an_. Cherished the chance of his smiles and laughter, and every mind numbing shade in between. You have given me more than I will ever deserve. And I miss you, and I will continue to miss you, until I can be with you again.”

A smile. He laid himself down in the lush grass besides her grave. 

“If I could be so fortunate, after all the rest, that is.”

The sun was warm and caressing, the wind a soft hush against the trees. Solas took a slow, solidifying inhale. 

Life went on. 

————

“Alerion?” Solas called, making his way through their home.

“Yes, Babae?” He heard his son’s response through an open door, causing Solas to backtrack slightly and enter the room adjacent. 

“Have you seen the—,” it was not often that the Dread Wolf was startled off his train of thought, but his son seemed to be the exception in increasing frequency. “Alerion!”

The boy had the good grace to look ashamed, his shoulders nearly up to his ears and he slowly turned to his father, open book and quill in hand. 

“Please tell me you are not scribbling in the margins again. We have discussed this.” He was already at his son’s desk, inspecting the damage. 

“I am sorry, Babae,” Alerion said, head lowered and the purest picture of sincerity. 

“We have parchment for reason, _da’fen_,” Solas chided, eyes scanning the beginning of what appeared to be several bridging formulae across the majority of the pages. All displeasure was quickly washed away as he tried to follow the symbols and numbers. “What have you started this time?” 

Alerion beamed, that smile that so reminded him of his mother, eager to share his work. 

The two spent hours together, Solas dutifully trying to comprehend his son’s words, and he did keep up for a large portion of it all, but then Alerion would go into these tangents where all he could do was give a smile in acknowledgment and accept that this was all a bit beyond him. 

Solas had a great deal of ingenuity with numbers himself— he would have never been capable of constructing the Veil otherwise, but his son was already on a scale far apart from his own. 

Eventually the sun too had conceded to the child’s mathematical prowess and allowed night to take over. Solas finally lamented that he had responsibilities to attend to. 

He stood, placing a hand on his son’s braided head. “Truly incredible, Alerion, but in the future, _please_, not in the priceless publications.” 

“Even for the hyperbolic ones?” His son sassed, pulling a small laugh from him. 

“Especially then, _da’vhen’an_.” 

————

Solas had been holed up in his study for the better part of the morning— windows thrown open wide in a desperate attempt to coax a breeze into the cramped space. Summer had fully settled and it was stifling. Even the brief spouts of rain that had passed through did nothing to temper it. 

The Dread Wolf had spent too long trying to draft the letter before him— a brief dismissal for a request that he cared not for, but the stagnant heat prevented the words from leaving his pen. 

He leaned back with a groan, eyes falling shut as he tried to relax. The house was empty, Alerion somewhere outside from the distant echo of shifting elemental magic he could barely feel if he reached out to it. 

And then a sound drifted in— flashes of the Waking Sea and soaked clothes. Ocean spray and Lavellan’s quiet smile. That small melody she had sung a lifetime ago.

How had it made its way here?

He was up and following it before he could even consider the implications. 

He stopped a ways off, his heart thrumming and lost. Solas watched as his son summoned ice to his palms before letting it melt in cool streams down his arms, humming the tune all the while. 

Solas had often seen traces of the Inquisitor in their son over the years, but this was something else entirely. His voice soft and carrying just as hers had been, the gentle curve of his cheeks as he watched the ice become water from the sun’s heat. 

“Alerion,” he called, voice cracking minutely.

His son stopped, turning and smiling so brightly at the sight of his Father. “Babae! Have you finished your work?”

The song had stopped and Solas dearly wanted it back. 

“Was that you singing?” He asked, hands trembling as he held them behind his back. 

“Was I being too loud?” His son’s tone was unusually defensive. 

“Never, my heart, it was quite beautiful. Where did you hear it?”

“The friend I made in the grove sang it yesterday,” Alerion said, nonchalant as anything. “While I was waiting for the rain to pass.”

His pulse quickened. “Your mother’s grove?”

“Yes, Babae. A spirit, but I am not sure what kind.”

For the first time since her passing, Solas dared to hope. 

————

Alerion had been right. There were soft stirrings about her tree. 

Solas was trying not to let his hope get away with him. He tried to keep it close to his chest, but then a brief flash caught his eye. 

And he knew. 

Without a doubt, a trace of the Inquisitor was manifesting here. 

He hadn’t completely forgotten himself. He knew no matter how much he wished it, it could never exactly be his _vhen’an_. But even the slightest prospect, the slimmest chance to see a glimmer of her…

“Little wolf,” the spirit called, “you’ve returned. And you brought the old wolf as well, just as Compassion said.”

Solas held his breath, his stomach lurching into his throat. 

“My Babae,” Alerion clarified, giving his father’s hand a quick tug and a confused look at his hesitation. 

“Yes,” they nodded, disinterested. “I think it will rain again. It was so very fun to play in before, wasn’t it?”

Solas could only stay silent, afraid that if he made the slightest move or sound this would all disappear before his eyes. He could not risk it. 

“You need not be worried, Wolf,” they spoke, not turning away from the small hand game they had started with his son. “A rock only parts the river, it cannot stop it.”

“I believe that depends on the size of the rock,” Solas returned, slowly approaching the two. 

“Yes and its composition, but that really defeats the purpose of the metaphor, doesn’t it?”

They had him there. “You said Compassion was here?” 

“I do believe you know him as coal, or something of that nature. But that is ridiculous, the nature of Compassion is Compassion and not a rock, regardless of his composition _or_ size,” they insisted, looking to Alerion for affirmation on this puzzling situation. 

“Cole? He was here?” Alerion asked, sending a surprised look to his father. 

“Yes,” they said. “He arrived shortly after you left. He asked if I would be here later, and I told him that I hardly knew, and then he said he’d come with the wolves. So now the wolves are here, but no Compassion.”

“I am here,” came a familiar voice and Alerion leapt towards the blond who manifested behind him. 

“_Isa’var’lin_!” The young boy called, flinging himself into Cole’s arms. Cole caught him easily. 

“It is good to see you well,” Solas greeted. 

“It is good to see you at _all_,” they called in turn, apparently not wanting to be left out. 

Cole held Solas’ gaze for a moment too long, and he had the impression that the spirit was refraining from spilling too much. A part of Solas was eager for Cole’s read on their current predicament, but another weaker part of him was equally grateful for his modesty.

“The rain,” the spirit whispered, pulling his gaze towards them. Their head was tipped back, eyes closed and hands held up towards the sky at their waist. 

The drops fell in sparse drips, pricking at his scalp and ears before it gained momentum. A warm cascade and Solas sent up a concave shield of mana above his head, Alerion following suit and sending his father a self-satisfied grin. 

Cole and the spirit seemed nonphased, both easily conversing in quiet tones that were soon drowned out by the downpour. 

“What kind of spirit are they, Babae?” Alerion asked, watching the exchange eagerly. 

“Have you not thought to ask?” he posed instead. 

His son pouted, his spell faltering slightly before he corrected it again. “I thought it would be rude.” 

Ah, well he could not fault the boy for that. 

“Empathy,” Solas said. “I have only met a few before myself. A rare and marvelous spirit.” The reminder of his phrasing did not sting as much as he anticipated. It settled like a warm caress on his heart. 

“Empathy,” Alerion repeated, receiving confirmation as the spirit looked up at their supposed name. There was no way they could have heard it so it must have been a reaction to a feeling; A deep desire to be seen radiating from his son to them. They smiled at him. 

This wasn’t forgiveness— he could never hope to achieve that, but it was something in the same vein. 

The chance of new beginnings and Solas was ready to start. 

————

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All Elvhen taken from Project Elvhen here on AO3.   
Babae - Father (I know the default is Papae...but I’m gonna just throw in my HC that Papae is the modern Babae since the translation for Father is Babae through Project Elvhen. It’s not a stretch to think Solas would keep with the archaic pronunciation.)
> 
> Garas, da’sa - Come, little one
> 
> Da’vhen’an - little heart 
> 
> Da’fen - little wolf 
> 
> Isha’len - son
> 
> Isa’var’lin - cousin (I’m interpreting this as like...People that are close enough to be family)


	8. IMY More

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the end :))

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is unbeta’d, but I hope you enjoy regardless of any errors!

————

“Will you be staying then, Cole?” 

Summer had finally waned, the leaves in the grove turning and falling around them into sporadic piles of orange and brown. His son howled in delight as he rushed into another crunchy heap. 

“Yes,” Compassion said. “They need, but have no words to ask. They come and cannot stay. Uncertainty, a wave. Hope, a blossom. The arm shakes. What was left?”

“For Empathy,” Solas confirmed, more to himself than the blond beside him. 

“Always. We hold the threads, tightly, cutting the skin until it hurts. Until it feels. Filled until we are shallow and nearing the brim of no longer empty. They sing the same.”

“I am sure your guidance is appreciated,” he assured, charcoal stained fingers picking at the edges of the bound parchment balanced on his thigh and calf. 

Solas tried again to start several more sketches. Quick poses and changes, all at weird angles that were quickly scrapped. 

“They like your drawings. It makes Alerion smile. You make him smile. In scribbles and the morning walks. Stories and cold cups long forgotten,” Cole seemed to overtake his more ethereal nature as his words progressed. “I am happy you are happy.”

“I am unaccustomed to it…it hardly feels right.”

“You have been patient enough. Time has caught up with the flick of your clever tail.” Cole fiddled with the edge of his sleeve, slowly returning the wave that Empathy and his son sent their way. 

Solas did the same. “I am done fighting time. If it has come for me than I will welcome it gladly.” 

Empathy laughed and he couldn’t look away. 

————

The fall leaves were more plentiful this year than the most recent years passed. Alerion had grown substantially since, and yet that passage of time could not dissuade him from a tumble in their lackluster verdure. 

“Little wolf, your plait has come apart,” Empathy chastised. “Here, come and let me fix it.”

Alerion nodded dutifully, slinking over to where they sat, brushing scraps of twigs and leaves off of his clothes as he went. 

Solas watched them contentedly— the tome in his lap open and forgotten as he dozed in the evening sun. 

“Is that fine, Alerion?” Empathy asked, “Not too tight?”

“Mmhmm,” he hummed, spinning a leaf by its stem in his fingers. 

The spirit seemed to have a strong fixation on all the little weaves and knots. They created more and more intricate patterns between each strand the longer they went.

“Are you sure? No tugs or pangs?”

“Yes, Mamae—“ Alerion slapped his hands over his mouth hastily, pulling away from the spirit at his back, eyes wild and face embarrassed. 

Oh. 

Solas sat straighter, consciously keeping himself from interfering. His son was old enough now to navigate his own social pitfalls and would gain no benefit from having him swoop in to salvage things. 

“Ah,” Alerion finally chirped. “I mean, I— I’m sorry that’s not…”

“It is alright.” Empathy placed their hands on his shoulders and gave him a more thorough look. There was a conflicted twinge in their eyes as they took the young man in. “If that is what you wish to call me...” 

“Really?” The boy perked up, face so bright and hopeful that it ripped at Solas’ heart. 

This was not progressing as he had hoped. 

He barked a stern, “Absolutely not” in tandem with Empathy’s, “Of course.”

They both looked at him, one surprised and the other disheartened. 

“Empathy, I apologize, but I believe I must have a word with my son,” he said, snapping his book closed. When the spirit made no show of moving he added a soft, “Privately, if we may.” 

They nodded once, giving Alerion a kind smile and a pat, before standing and making a slow retreat. 

Solas patted the grass beside him as a soft beckon for his son to join him. It really was foolish of him to not realize there may have been some oversight in his paternal duties. 

Namely in all matters concerning Lavellan. 

Alerion’s _actual_ mother. 

Solas spoke of her fondly, but he was now coming to realize that those instances were vague and infrequent. A pain he did not enjoy reliving, and thusly had failed in communicating to his son. 

It was time to amend that. 

Probably. 

He hoped. 

“You are not in trouble, Alerion,” Solas encouraged, reading the nervous body language and uncomfortable tension. “But we really must talk.”

“Yes, Babae,” the young man conceded, taking up the spot besides him. 

Where to even start? 

“How much do you know of her— of your Mamae, outside of what I have told you? Or of us even, or myself and what I have done? Any of it?” Solas linked his fingers together in a futile attempt to calm his knotting stomach. 

“Probably more than I think you would like, Babae, but less than I want,” the boy scratched awkwardly at the nape of his neck, fingers tangling in one of the innumerable braids Empathy had put there. “I have read about her. Inquisitor Lavellan, but it was mostly battle records and third or fourth-hand accounts. More about her cause than herself. Cole tried a couple of times, but I could never really understand what it was he was trying to tell me.”

“I see.” He was stalling and he knew it. What should he even say? What was too much or too little? They had just started to broach the topic of intimacy— the do’s and dont’s of becoming an adult, so he should be perfectly capable of handling this sort of conversation. Yet here he was— floundering. This was nowhere near as awkward as the nugs and the hallas, but he still felt that sharp prick of embarrassment. 

_Honesty. Try honesty. _And he swore that voice in his head sounded more and more like her every time. 

“Empathy is...think of them as...” he struggled for the word. “Inspired by your mother. At Lavellan’s core, at her very source was this fellow feeling spirit. Your mother was—”

He gave his son a melancholic smile. “She was everything. Not only to me, but to many. She was a pillar, contentedly bearing the world’s weight. She would have happily taken more if it was asked of her.”

Behind his eyes he saw a flash of her palm, split and angry with his magic, as she lay unconscious in a cell under Haven. His heart ached. “I cannot say if the world brought me to her, or if it brought her to me, but she and I lived lives that were so incredibly similar. We fell into roles of power we never wanted. We both gained greater responsibility than we were ever capable of enduring, and we accepted our roles without a care to our own well being. We sought the counsel of others, yes, but at the end of it we relied solely on ourselves. Foolishly, I might add. I would not recommend it.

“Your Mamae and I were both deeply lonely people, and I think we saw ourselves in another person with an almost blinding clarity. We understood one another without ever addressing it. It was its own kind of freedom, to know that we were not alone. But neither of us knew how to sustain that sort of feeling, probably because we never had much experience with it. We both withheld more than we ever should. We stumbled with the prospect of dependency and made grievous mistakes that ultimately eroded our relationship. A great deal of those mistakes were outside of our control, or at least we perceived them to be and we succumbed to them.

“Our love was there, but we fumbled with what was essential to its longevity. Honesty. Forthcomingness. As you can see, it is still something I have to improve upon, even as an old, old, old, old, old, terribly ancient man.”

Alerion laughed, and Solas brought an arm around his son’s shoulders. “But all of that does not negate her brilliant, kindhearted nature. There is _so_ much of that goodness within you too, Alerion, and I see more and more of her in you each day. Especially in your bravery and patience. She would be incredibly proud of the person you are becoming. And I am as well.

“In regards to our friend, however, it is Empathy’s nature to feel as you do. To fill and validate that feeling of wanting. And I am sorry for not making it explicitly clear that you could always come to me about your mother. Or having you think you would upset me in some way by asking. There is nothing you could ever ask of me that would change my love for you, my wonderful boy.”

“I understand,” his son lamented, his voice still low and thoroughly chastised, though that was not his intent. 

Solas gave him his best attempt at a reassuring smile. 

“It is not fair of us to expect Empathy to fill that role and it would not be true to either of them. Empathy is not your mother, and it would be a great disservice to make them so.”

His son made a move to protest, whether with an apology or otherwise Solas wasn’t completely sure, but he held up a hand to silence him. He was not done. 

“But they can be your friend, and they can give you guidance and comfort. Let it be as themself, _da’sa_, and not as a replacement for something that cannot be.” The old wolf stood and stretched. 

“Do you understand, Alerion?” he asked, reaching a hand out to help the young man to his feet. 

“Yes, Babae,” he said, voice holding a little more confidence. Good, that was a comforting sign. 

“_Ar lath ma, da’fen_.” Solas wrapped his son up in a warm hug, surprised to find his once tiny babe now stood to his shoulders. 

“_Ar lath ma,_ Babae.”

————

He sought out Empathy later that evening. 

“I am sorry. I hope what Alerion said did not make you feel uncomfortable,” he said to the air, sensing them behind him. 

“It is nothing to apologize for. He meant no ill,” Empathy said, coming up and sitting to his right. 

“Still, I know it is hard to fight against your better nature. He is learning the difference.” 

They smiled. “You are teaching him well.” 

“I am trying.”

Empathy hummed, an aimless tune that spun around his heart. He closed his eyes as their melody washed over him. Then they spoke. 

“You are layers and layers upon neverending layers and you are afraid of what is hidden underneath them all. You rip them open, trying to expose the reality, but nothing comes forward. It is all you and none of it and you are lost.” They held his uncertain gaze. “You are alone.”

And that was the heart of it. Solas laid back, Empathy following as they both stared into the darkened skies above. 

He took in a breath, hands lax at his sides. “There is nothing wrong with being alone.”

“Yes,” the spirit agreed, gently ghosting their abstracted fingers against his. “But you do not have to be.”

————

It had finally happened. Alerion had grown up. 

Time became a blur of lessons and squabbling minutia as the boy transitioned into a man— an adult in his own right. 

Solas hardly knew what to do with himself. He had done what he could by his son. He had dedicated himself to guiding and teaching and loving him with everything he was able.

Somehow, he just knew he had forgotten something along the way. Or many somethings. So many tiny things that may have been overlooked. He had tried to set the example, to establish good virtues; Honesty and kindness and patience. Humility. How to cook, how to care for one’s self. How to defend himself in a world that may not hold his lineage in the highest regard. How to care for others regardless of this circumstance. Empathy’s doing, undoubtedly, but he could give himself some of the credit surely. 

This was not goodbye, not really, and if anything he should be eager for his son to fully experience the world he had sacrificed so much for. He should be celebrating. Smiling and encouraging. 

And they had celebrated, thoroughly, the day they had received the letter inviting his son to continue his studies in architecture and arcane design. It was everything Alerion had been working towards and now it was finally his to achieve. 

The most Solas could do now was not weep as Alerion brought their foreheads together in parting. 

“It is not forever, Babae,” Alerion soothed, pulling his pack more fully onto his broad shoulders. 

Solas gave a wet laugh. “It is long enough, I assure you. Is there anything you have forgotten?”

“No,” his son shook his head. “I said my farewell to Mamae this morning. Empathy should be here soon. Cole as well.”

“I believe so,” Solas agreed. 

The two arrived shortly after, meeting the elves as they walked to the closest eluvian. Alerion had a small journey ahead of him to connect back to New Arlathan, but it was nothing beyond his capacity. 

Easy travels, as they should be. 

They all stopped before the mirror, magic humming on its surface as Alerion whispered the passcode. He turned back to his family. 

Empathy was the first to approach him. “I will miss our walks, little wolf, but I will miss you more.”

Alerion smiled, fully returning the embrace the spirit gave him, however awkward it may appear. Over the years they had managed to work out the logistics. “Take care of him, won’t you?” 

Empathy laughed. “Yes, of course. There would be nothing else to do otherwise.”

“You as well, _isa’var’lin_,” Alerion spoke to Cole, who lingered a tad farther away. 

The blond nodded with the faintest hint of a smile. “Go and build wonders, the pack will remain until you return. Watchful and ready, warm furs and full stomachs. We will save you a seat.”

There was an unmistakable shine in Alerion’s eyes as he turned to his father. Solas said nothing of it, knowing full well he was in no better state. 

“I’ll try to write,” Alerion said.

“Do more than try, _da’fen_.”

“Yes, Babae.” 

Solas gave him a firm hug, overwhelmed by the sheer size of the man now before him. Once, he could hold Alerion in one arm, and now…

“Hunt well, my son,” Solas breathed, grateful as Alerion held him a little tighter before letting go. 

“Goodbye,” the young man said, finally turning and heading through the eluvian with a final wave. 

They all returned it in kind, not stopping even when it could no longer be seen. The mirror’s magic wavered and died out and yet Solas could not look away from where his son had left. 

Empathy finally coaxed him— a small brush of fingers at his shoulder. Cole was already a long ways off. “Come, Wolf, it is getting late.”

The two walked, lulled by the quiet sounds of the late evening. Everything was hushed and soft as if their little world was adjusting to Alerion’s absence too. 

“Are you worried for him?” Empathy asked. 

“No,” Solas said. “Yes.”

“He will be marvelous. Imagine what that mind of his will create,” they encouraged, stopping and tracing the petals on a small clump of flowers besides the path. 

“He will shape the world,” Solas agreed. “His studies will serve him well, building feats the likes of which we have never seen. He will find the pursuit vastly rewarding, I am sure of it.”

“And we will be here, waiting all the while,” their words were meant as an assurance, but something tugged painfully at his heart. 

“You need not stay, Empathy,” He spoke, voice even and deliberate. “Especially on my account. You are as free as Alerion. Tell me, is there nothing you wish to see? To do? Something solely for yourself?”

Empathy’s eyes did not stray from the flowers in their hands, twirling them in a way that could almost be described as anxious. “I...I have been considering manifesting a body of my own.”

His heart clenched, he dared not to hope. An unfounded guilt tugged at him for wanting to encourage them. This was not his choice to make. But still, he should support his friend, one of his closest companions now that his son was pursuing his own life. 

Surely they should be allowed to do the same. 

“There are...considerations,” Solas tried his hardest to keep his voice even. “As someone who has made this decision before, I would advise you to think on it fully until you are completely sure.”

“And as a friend?” Empathy prompted, looking at him with an equal mixture of levity and uncertainty. 

“I would encourage you to take any chance of happiness, however it manifests,” he smiled. “As a friend, that is.”

They shook their head wryly. “I appreciate your friendly advice.” 

“What else are friends for?” 

————

Solas awoke nearly two decades later. 

He felt the pull of her at the edge of his mind, dragging him out of a deep sleep. He followed it, of course he did. For her, anything, always. 

She was sat beneath her tree, flipping her hands back to front, scrutinizing them with an expression exactly as he always remembered. 

Then she lifted her head, eyes bright and brilliant and actually _looking_ at him and his voice caught as he tried to greet her. 

He did not deserve this. He did not deserve the ache in his chest to loosen enough that he finally had a moment to breathe.

How could he be allowed this? Even after everything, but she was _here_ and she was looking at _him_...

She made a face, glancing again to her spread fingers. 

“It’s all rather limiting, isn’t it?” she remarked, unimpressed. 

He laughed despite the sharp sting in his eyes, ending it in a short snort when he tried to stop himself. Solas brought himself besides her and he slowly took both her hands in his. 

He couldn’t have agreed more. 

————

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And they did a bunch of elfy things for all of eternity, the end! 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this little story. It was originally a one!shot that completely got away from me and here we are.
> 
> A hearty thanks to all who have commented, gave kudos, or even just read the ding dang thing!
> 
> You can find me over on tumblr as beaubartley, which is currently being filled with lots of original Solavellan fanart, including several for _Good Grief_ itself!
> 
> Thanks again! TTFN :))

**Author's Note:**

> All comments and critiques are appreciated. 
> 
> Thank you for reading.


End file.
